


Christmas Holidays (Aren't What They Used To Be)

by momotastic



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Blow Jobs, Bottom Arthur, Bottom Merlin, Christmas, Hand Jobs, Het, Humor, Multi, Romance, Slash, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8962480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momotastic/pseuds/momotastic
Summary: Neither Gwen nor Arthur expected to find so much when they switched places for the Christmas holidays. Arthur in a tiny village in Surrey, England, and Gwen in Los Angeles, California each find much more than they bargained for in the two weeks leading up to Christmas. The only problem is: What will they do with what they’ve found once they go back home? [Loosely inspired by The Holiday]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is, in part, for [Merlin Carols on LJ](http://merlincarols.livejournal.com). The song I claimed is "Child of Love" by Sara Groves. I paired it with an AU I've been meaning to write for a while, and here we are: A Christmas fic, based on one of my favourite movies, with more plot than I had intended for either character XD It just kept growing, what can I say? Thank you, [Lindsey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/), both for conceiving of this fest, and for your encouragement, and your patience with me. ♥
> 
> Many thanks to [patria_mori](http://patria-mori.livejournal.com/) for a last minute beta, and to [Camelittle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/) for the Brit-pick, as well as [Christina](http://poisonyourbreath.tumblr.com/) for the US-pick, another last minute beta, and all the encouragement. You all are the best.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this story. You can check out chapter two and three to find some bonus features ;)
> 
> For mentioned (past) pairings, please see the end notes!
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **A quick note about how best to view this story:** It is highly recommended that you leave the Creator's Style turned ON if you're reading this story online.
> 
> If you want to download this fic as pdf to read on your e-reader/tablet/just to store for safety: Hit me up and I'll happily compile you a pdf that preserves the formatting of this story as best as possible. I'm going to add PDFs for all my fics, bit by bit, but if this is one of the ones where I haven't got round to it yet, just sling me a comment or find me through my [tumblr](http://momotastic27.tumblr.com), [LJ](http://momotastic.livejourna.com) or [DW](http://momo.dreamwidth.org), and let me know what you need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story switches POVs more or less frequently. I chose not to indicate a switch between characters through change of font, but I believe I managed to mention or imply whose POV it is within the first two sentences of every section. Beware: The American spelling in Arthur's POV is deliberate.

Gwen is overwhelmed. The house is extremely big - bigger than she’d imagined, and much bigger than Arthur had warned her. It looks like something out of a movie with its sleek design, and large glass fronts. Gwen can’t believe that she’ll be living here for over two weeks!

The door’s opened by a butler - an actual butler! He’s much younger than she would’ve imagined - if she’d known there’d be a butler. He’s got a horrible bowl cut, and his face is entirely expressionless. He says his name is George and he’ll be happy to show her to the guest rooms. On the way there he explains the intercom and the basic layout of the house while Gwen looks around and takes in the modern - and likely expensive - furniture that looks clean-cut and boring in all it’s black-and-whiteness. The walls are lined with modern art that Gwen wants to take a closer look at but knows she won’t be able to concentrate on tonight. Gwen tries to remember everything George is telling her, and where they’re going, but after more than half a day of travelling, she’s just about ready to fall face-first into bed. 

The sight of the rooms - plural - that are to be hers for two weeks, wakes her up, though. There’s a lounge, complete with couch, armchairs, fireplace - and what do you need that for in Los Angeles? -  and an enormous TV set. Off to one side is the bedroom that’s bigger than Gwen’s entire living room with a bed so large like Gwen’s never seen before. The bathroom that lays beyond is equally enormous with a gorgeous bathtub, shower, and two sinks. 

It’s only a little after eight o’clock in the evening, so Gwen decides to unpack right away. She only brought one small suitcase, figuring that she could always wash her clothes, or buy new ones, should she run out. Unpacking only takes about ten minutes, and by the end of it, the enormous wardrobe still looks empty. 

She’s done by half past eight, and after a quick wash, she finally falls into bed, not even bothering to close the blinds on the windows.

~*~

The cottage is dainty, and tiny, and decked in holiday decorations. Gwen clearly cares for her home diligently, Arthur thinks. 

He’s just finished unpacking his two suitcases, and is about to head into the village for a few groceries. He didn’t get that much sleep on the red-eye flight from LAX into Heathrow, but a large coffee on the ride from the airport, and the determination not to waste a single day of his holiday, keep him going. Driving on the left side of the road is going to be an adventure, though. He contemplates just getting a cab, but the ride here already took forever because the cabbie didn’t want to drive all the way to the house, and Arthur has no desire to walk half a mile with bags of groceries.

After a truly horrendous near-accident where he almost drove straight into a lorry because the damn road’s so narrow, he finds a small grocery store, tucked in between the post office and a butcher’s. Arthur decides to buy a few more bottles of wine than originally intended to get over that particular shock.

Of course he also crams other food items into the small cart. Chocolates, beans, microwave bangers and mash (apparently sausages with mashed potatoes), and several ready-made pies that just need to be baked to completion in the oven.

Arthur might have been born in Britain, but he grew up in the States, and his father, with few exceptions, didn’t put much value on educating Arthur about his “roots”. It’s no wonder Arthur wants to try everything now that he’s here. 

As soon as he’s back at the cottage he pops the bangers in the microwave and opens the first bottle of wine. 

By the time he’s finished it, he’s talking to his father (using Gwen’s black Shorthair, Elyan, as a stand-in), and repeating the argument they had yesterday.

“Why won’t you ever talk about her?” Arthur asks, glaring at Elyan, who blinks slowly and looks generally unimpressed. Arthur has to admit that it’s an accurate representation of his father. 

“I don’t need to talk about her to remember her,” Arthur says, mimicking his father’s voice.

Arthur drains his glass, and refills it right away.

“But  _ I _ don’t remember her! you ever think of that?” Arthur argues with ElyanUther. Elyan yawns, and turns his head away to go to sleep.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “Of course you don’t care.”

Now Arthur’s in a tiny village outside London, in an even tinier cottage, two weeks before Christmas because he’s had a fight with his father that they’ve been having for at least a decade, and it finally escalated. Arthur has no idea what he’s hoping to achieve by coming here. All he knows is that his mother and father met in London and lived there until Ygraine died just after giving birth.

Gaius, one of Uther’s close friends who moved to the States with him twenty-five years ago, once told Arthur that the pregnancy had been high risk, and that Uther had actually asked Ygraine to abort. Ygraine had refused. She wanted to have Arthur, no matter the cost. Ever since Arthur heard about that, he marvelled at the fact that his father hadn’t given him up for adoption right after he was born.

He hadn’t, though. Uther cared for Arthur, gave him a home and anything he could ever ask for - except memories of his mother.

Sitting down on the floor next to the armchair that Elyan’s claimed for himself, Arthur leans his head back against the sidearm. 

“You’re punishing me for her death by not telling me anything,” Arthur grouses. Yesterday he’d shouted it, and much like Elyan’s ignoring him now, Uther had kept quiet, too. It only confirmed what Arthur had suspected for a while.

That’s why he decided to leave the country and go looking for information on his own.

The fact that he’d found Gwen and her cottage was pure coincidence. Leon had told him about the house exchange thing just last week, and he was lucky that Gwen’s cottage was listed, available on short notice, and more or less exactly what Arthur had been looking for.

Gwen seemed incredibly nice as well, and eager to leave for LA just as quickly. Arthur didn’t ask for her reasons, but he’s got the impression that she’s trying to get away from a guy from what little she’s said. He hopes she’ll be okay in his home. Uther usually keeps to his own wing, and leaves the rest of the house to Arthur. Arthur informed him (via email) that a guest was going to stay in the house until after Christmas, and that this guest was allowed complete access to any part of the house where Arthur could go as well. That only excluded Uther’s own rooms. 

Arthur decides not to have another bottle of wine, as it would be his third, and instead changes into his pjs and heads upstairs, and to bed, Elyan on his heels.

~*~

Gwen wakes when light starts filtering through the curtains of her room. It takes her a moment to remember where she is, but then she’s jumping out of bed excitedly, pulling on a robe, and practically running out of the room down to where she thinks the kitchen is. She wants to start the day quickly, and get out of the house to explore the neighbourhood.

On the way down, she runs into George - almost running him over, in fact - and he tells her that she’ll be able to take breakfast in the dining room. Gwen’s still thinking about the fact that, yes, of course a house this big would have a dining room. Back home she eats at her small kitchen table, if she bothers to sit at a table at all. Most mornings she doesn’t even have breakfast, and for dinner she usually makes herself comfortable on the couch with a book or a movie, frequently spilling sauce on the cushions.

When she steps inside the dining room, there’s already someone seated at the long table. An older man with a large forehead and receding hairline, a scar above his eye, and deep creases in his forehead. He’s reading the Wall Street Journal, and sipping from a large mug.

Gwen figures that this must be Arthur’s father, Uther. She walks up to him, and clears her throat. “Good morning, Mr Pendragon. I’m Guinevere Smith, your son’s guest.”

Uther turns to look at her, gaze cold enough to make Gwen shiver despite the warm weather.

“As you can see, Miss Smith, I’m trying to have breakfast and don’t wish to chit chat. The first clue was that I’ve been reading the newspaper since before you came in, and that I haven’t invited anyone else to join me for breakfast. Your place setting is at the other end of the table, as you’ve surely noticed, since this is where you’ve entered the room.”

Gwen’s jaw actually drops. “You’re kidding, right?” she asks, staring at him incredulously. Arthur had warned her that she shouldn’t expect too much of his father, but he didn’t tell her that Uther Pendragon was bloody rude. If there’s one thing Gwen can’t abide, it’s snotty rich, white men who think they’re better than her.

“I bet that if I hadn’t come over to introduce myself you’d probably have nagged me for being impolite, right?” Uther looks up from his paper, directing what’s probably one of his fiercest glares at her, but Gwen has no reason to be afraid of this man. She’s Arthur’s guest, not his.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to bother you again. I’m here to have a nice holiday without any drama from men who can’t make up their mind about how they feel. I get enough of that at home.” 

From the way Uther’s eyes narrow, Gwen guesses he’s about to retaliate but she’s had enough. It’s her first proper day of holiday in an exciting city and she’s done letting her mood be ruined by people who think they can do as they please, and ignore the impact they have on others.

“Enjoy your newspaper. It’s exactly the kind of biased garbage I’d expect someone like you to read.”

She turns on her heel and walks back out the room, only grabbing the glass of fresh orange juice that’s sitting by the plate that was meant for her. Uther stares after her in disbelief even after the door has fallen shut again - not that Gwen notices it. She’s too busy fuming over the rudeness of Arthur’s father. It’s no wonder Arthur wanted to get away for the holidays. If Uther’s this rude to guests, how awful must he be to his own family?

In her anger, she runs straight into someone, managing not quite to knock them over, but with enough force to spill orange juice all down their and her own front.

“Bollocks!” she cries, and looks up at- an incredibly good looking, tall guy with curly, ginger hair, and an equally ginger beard.

Oh, bugger, Gwen thinks.

“I’m so sorry!” she says out loud. “I’ll pay the cleaning bill, of course. I’m really so sorry! This never happens to me. I wasn’t looking where I was going because I got so angry. I just stormed out but I saw the juice and I thought, poor George, he put this there for me, I can’t just ignore it, and now I’ve spilled it all over you. Please, don’t sue me?”

The man’s been watching her with mounting amusement. Gwen figures that she might be okay if he finds the whole thing funny.

“You know, it’s a prejudice that all Americans sue at the smallest infraction, but since I’m not American it wouldn’t apply to me anyway,” he says in a posh accent with a light London lilt.

“Oh, thank God,” Gwen exhales. “I’m honestly sorry for ruining your clothes. I mean it about paying for the dry cleaning.”

The man waves it away. “Don’t be silly. This is actually my least favourite shirt. I only wear it because it annoys Arthur to no end when I do.” 

He winks at Gwen, and she drops her eyes to look at the shirt properly. 

It shows a buffalo eating a dolphin, and apart from it being a weird, cartoony picture for such a gruesome scene, she has no idea why it would upset someone. 

“Is he an animal rights activist, or what am I not getting?” she asks, still frowning at the shirt.

The man laughs. “No, it’s an American football thing. It’s fine, I wouldn’t expect anyone from back home to get it unless they were following the NFL, which I’m guessing you’re not?”

She shakes her head. 

“It’s two team mascots,” he explains. “Arthur’s a big fan of the Miami Dolphins, because he and Uther lived there when Arthur was a boy, and they have something of a standing feud with the Buffalo Bills.”

“Ah,” Gwen says, as if that makes any more sense now. Sports has never been her thing, especially not team sports. She thinks the man might be talking about American football, maybe?

“I see,” she says after a moment. “So, you’re here to see Arthur?”

“Yes,” the man says. “Just need to pick something up. Sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself yet, have I? I’m Leon, Arthur’s business partner. Well, sort of. And are you his new girlfriend?”

“Oh!,” Gwen splutters. “No, no, I’m Gwen. Arthur and I exchanged homes for the holidays. He’s in my cottage in Surrey, and I’m, well, here.” She makes a little ta-da motion with her hands.

“Arthur’s in Surrey?” Leon asks.

“Yes, he is. Until the day after Boxing Day, and I’m staying here. It’s a long story, and it was completely short notice. I’m sure he would’ve gotten around to telling you, but with the long journey and the time zones, and the jet lag! I was knackered myself when I got here and only made myself stay up until it was late enough so I wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night.”

Leon’s smiling again. “You talk when you’re nervous, don’t you?”

Gwen’s eyes widen. “And you’re rather direct for someone so posh.”

That makes Leon laugh. 

“What can I say? I was raised in the States during my formative years, but lived in England long enough to adopt and keep the accent.” He has the audacity to wink at her. Gwen doesn’t even mind because it’s a fresh breath of air to meet someone from home who isn’t emotionally constipated.

“Anyway,” Leon continues. “I just need to pick up some files, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Of course. Do you know your way, or should I call George?” She looks around for an intercom, still marvelling at the fact that there’s one in every hallway.

“I know the way,” Leon says, smiling. “But thanks.”

She smiles nervously. “You’re welcome. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thanks,” Leon says, and walks off in the opposite direction from Gwen’s room. “By the way,” he calls back over his shoulder when he’s a few metres away already, and Gwen, who’d started back towards her room, stops and turns around. Leon grins. “Love the outfit!”

Gwen looks down her front and finally remembers that she’s wearing nothing but knickers, and her favourite sleep shirt, a large dark thing that’s got a big print of the words “Read books, not t-shirts” on the front under her bathrobe, and both the robe and shirt are soaked in orange juice. 

Her mortified squeak echoes around the hall, and she thinks she might be able to hear Leon’s answering laughter from somewhere far away.

A shower, a sandwich and cup of coffee in the kitchen, and a nice long walk around the neighbourhood later, Gwen’s just returning from a walk around the block to get to know the neighbourhood. It still amazes her that she can wear light trousers and a blouse in December. She had meant to put on a dress, but the wind was too strong for it and she’s already embarrassed herself once today, she’d rather not repeat it. Still, it was lovely and warm, and dry. Nothing at all like English winters, luckily.

She suddenly remembers that she hasn’t checked her phone, or even told anyone that she was going out of town, except Lancelot, and figures that she should probably let at least Merlin know where she is. 

She turns on her phone and after receiving about a million texts from Vodafone telling her about their international contract options, there’s a text from Lance.

Lancelot DuLac  
  
Hey, darling. I miss you terribly. Can’t wait to have you back in my arms. You were right to leave though. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and I’m sure you’ll come back to me soon. Much love. @-->\---  
  


Who even still does the old-fashioned text rose thing? She knows it’s silly to be annoyed by such a small thing, but God, Lancelot needs to arrive in the twenty-first century.

She sends Merlin a quick text to let him know that he can’t come round her place until after Christmas because she’s on holiday, that he doesn’t need to worry about feeding Elyan, and how to reach her in an emergency. After that she turns off her phone and hides it in the bedside drawer.

To work off some of her annoyance, she decides to go for another walk. A longer one this time.

Lancelot’s got this annoying habit of being unreliable at the worst of times. When they first got together almost a decade ago, Gwen had thought that his chivalry was the best thing - until she had learned that his self-esteem was extremely low and all he did was to please others so he could gain their approval.

In between these bouts of doing everything for anyone, there were long times during which he would disappear for weeks or even months because he suddenly felt he had to travel to search his soul or explore his feelings. He never much cared about how much she missed him during those times, so how dare he tell her to come back soon because he was miserable now that she’s off having some fun for once!

The whole thing had turned into ten years of on-again-off-again, and Gwen’s tired of it. She told Lance not to contact her unless it was an emergency, and now that she’s got a nice bit of distance between them - a distance that, for once, she chose - she’ll decide if she’s ready to be his permanent confidence booster, or if she can let him go once and for all.

Coming out of her thoughts, Gwen realises that she has no idea where she ended up. She’s been paying no attention to landmarks or anything of the kind. She thinks she might’ve just walked in a straight line down the street, but she isn’t too sure.

Then a big, black jeeps stops next to her, and she freezes. Articles with statistical probability of black women being shot in the open street in broad daylight go through her head, and Gwen quickly looks around for the nearest place to run and hide.

Then the window on the driver’s side rolls down and Uther’s voice calls out to her. “Do you need a ride back to the house?”

Gwen stares at him dumbfounded. This is not at all what she expected to happen. She’s sure that the probability of her getting kidnapped was higher than Uther Pendragon offering her a ride back to the villa.

“Have you gone deaf?” Uther says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ve asked you a question.”

She blinks, shakes her head, then nods. “I need a ride back, yes.” She makes no move to open the passenger door and get in.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Uther asks, sounding even more irritated. “Get into the car.” Gwen wonders if the vein pulsing on his forehead is going to pop one day from irritation.

She finally manages to move, and climb into the enormous Jeep Uther’s driving. The seats are plush, upholstered in soft, light brown leather. 

“Thank you,” she says as she buckles in. She offers him a hesitant smile, trying to show that she’s willing to start over.

“You’re welcome,” he says tersely, apparently unmoved by her gesture, if he even noticed it.

They drive in silence for a couple of minutes before Gwen takes heart and decides to try one more time.

“How long have you been living in the States, Mr Pendragon?” she asks politely.

“Twenty-five years,” is Uther’s entire reply. She wonders if he’s concentrating on driving too much to keep up a conversation, but he has no doubt he’ll tell her as much if it’s the case.

So, she tries to keep the conversation going.

“That’s a long time,” she comments. “Where in England are you from, if I may ask?”

“London,” he says just as quickly and singularly as before.

She thinks this is all he’s going to say, and is about to ask another question, but then he adds: “I lived there with my wife.”

She already knows from the few things Arthur has mentioned about why he wanted to go to England, that Uther’s wife died in childbirth. Twenty-five years is a long time to live alone, especially if you managed to push away your only son during all that time.

“You must miss her,” Gwen says softly.

“I do,” Uther admits, voice becoming softer. “Every day.”

Gwen hums, and looks out the window. “Must’ve been hard to raise a child on your own,” she says after a while. She’s not here to guilt Uther Pendragon into admitting to being a bad father, but she’s curious by nature - which makes her a great journalist - and so of course she wants to know more.

“It is,” Uther says, voice strained.

Gwen turns to look at Uther. He’s gripping the steering wheel tightly, but his face doesn’t show anger, just sadness.

“My dad raised me by himself,” she offers. “My mum left when I was in preschool. It wasn’t always easy, but we had each other, and a home, and it was enough.”

Uther swallows. “I’m not sure Arthur would say the same about me.”

It takes Gwen by surprise that Uther’s so candid about it. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right way to talk with him yet,” she says. “Once you do, he’ll agree with me.”

They reach the villa in that moment, and Uther parks the car before looking at her.

“What you said this morning about the New York Times,” he begins.

Gwen cringes. “I was rude,” she says, but Uther holds up his hand.

“I was rude first,” he admits. “And you were not entirely wrong. I know that the reputation of the New York Times is not as flawless as it used to be, back in the day, but old habits die hard, as they say. I will look to broaden my reading habits and seek out more diverse news sources, if you cared to suggest alternatives.”

Gwen only just manages not to gape at Uther.

“I’d be happy to,” she says finally. 

“Excellent. Let’s go inside, now. It’s getting hot in the car, and I’d much rather sit in an air-conditioned dining room and take lunch.”

“Oh, of course.” She quickly climbs out of the car so Uther can lock it, or give it to the valet, or whatever it is he does with it when he’s not driving it. She didn’t expect there to actually be a valet, but she supposes she honestly shouldn’t have been surprised when George opens the door and takes the car keys from Uther.

“Lunch is served,” he announces as Uther and Gwen walk past.

“For you as well, Miss Smith,” he adds with a nod.

“Thank you, George,” Gwen says, smiling.

George inclines his head, and leaves Gwen to follow Uther to the dining room by herself.

By the time she’s sitting down all the way across the table from Uther, she’s still not sure the conversation in the car actually happened, but when Uther gestures for her to move her plate and sit at his side, rather than several metres down the table, she supposes this either an extremely elaborate dream, or she’s walked straight into an alternate dimension. 

Either way, there’s no point in not finding out what happens next, so she takes her plate, cutlery, and water glass, and moves up the table to sit down next to Uther.

Instead of an awkward silence stretching between them, they end up talking about journalism and the differences between good newspapers and bad ones. Gwen finds that she’s thoroughly enjoying herself, and before she knows it, she’s sharing the reasons for her impromptu holiday with Uther.

“It sounds to me,” Uther says at length after patiently listening to Gwen rant about Lancelot’s inability to respect her boundaries while simultaneously enforcing his own with all his might, “like you’ve already made up your mind about what to do when you get back. I think what you’re actually doing here is gather the courage and necessary emotional distance to actually go through with it. The way I see it, you’ve been trying to break up once and for all with this man for a while now, but every time he looks at you with his soulful dark eyes, you’re lost again.”

Gwen sighs heavily. “That’s pretty much exactly how it goes, yes,” she admits. “How did you know?”

Uther shrugs. “I’ve been in the music industry for a long time. Every other break up song deals with this. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

That makes her laugh. “I suppose you’re right. God,” she groans, “I’ve turned into a pop song cliché.”

“Don’t worry,” Uther says. “You’ll figure it out. I can tell.”

It makes her smile, and she raises her glass to drink to that - even if it’s just with water.

~*~

The loud pounding on the front door wakes Arthur in the middle of the night. He heads downstairs, almost tripping over Elyan while looking around for a weapon - and finding none.

He stands behind the door when whoever’s outside decides to start shouting.

“Open up, Gwen! I’ve got to piss and I’d rather do it inside than on your front step!”

Arthur yanks the door open to find a tall man standing on the other side, hand raised to resume banging against the door. 

He is, Arthur notes, stunningly beautiful. Dark hair poking out from under a thick wool beanie, sharp cheekbones and clear blue eyes just visible above an equally heavy, blue scarf. 

Arthur’s staring is interrupted when the man waves a hand in front of his face.

“Who’re you?” he asks, sounding as if he’s sure that Arthur’s a deranged axe murderer.

“I’m Arthur, I’ve rented the cottage for the holidays.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Since when’s Gwen renting out her place to Americans?” the stranger asks, eyes still narrowed suspiciously.

“I wouldn’t know,” Arthur replies. “She did now, and I’ve rented it.”

“But where’s Gwen?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and sighs long-sufferingly. “In my villa in LA. Who’re you again?” 

“I’m Merlin,” he says. “Her best friend, and unless you want me to piss on the front step, you’d better let me in so I can use the loo.”

Arthur’s eyes widen and he hastily steps aside with an inviting gesture.

Merlin rushes inside, and doesn’t even stop to take off his coat before he steps into the bathroom.

Arthur’s suddenly aware that he’s wearing his silk pyjamas with a pair of old red socks that Gaius once gifted him. The pjs would look quite impressive, if not for the socks. There’s a hole where the big toe on his right foot pokes through, and the other’s got a loose thread at the top. Arthur quickly pulls them off and chucks them behind an armchair before Merlin can return.

Merlin re-emerges from the bathroom half a minute later, grinning brightly. “That’s better.” He finally takes off his hat, revealing thick black hair that just begs to be grabbed and pulled. Arthur watches mesmerised as Merlin shrugs out of his coat and unwinds his scarf to show a long neck that Arthur desperately wants to lick.

Now that Merlin’s hands are visible, Arthur notes that they’re long and slender and, God, Arthur wants to know what they feel like wrapped around his cock.

“So,” Merlin says, ripping Arthur out of his daydream. There’s a knowing smile playing around his lips and Arthur thinks that he’s been rather obvious in his lascivious staring.

Shit.

“You’re Gwen’s best friend,” Arthur repeats Merlin’s words.

“And you’re Arthur from America, renting Gwen’s place for the holidays.”

Arthur nods. “I am.”

“Interesting.”

Merlin makes himself comfortable on the couch.

“Not as interesting as a man going to his friend’s place to take a leak,” Arthur counters as he sits down next to Merlin.

“Well,” Merlin begins, “every once in awhile, I get inordinately pissed at the pub in the village, and Gwen usually puts me up for the night because apparently I can’t be trusted to drink my water and stave off an enormous hangover when I’m on my own.” Merlin frowns. “I didn’t know she was going out of town, she never said.”

Arthur shrugs. “It was rather short-notice.”

“Hm, must’ve been,” Merlin says, still smiling at Arthur. “And what brings you here?”

Arthur smiles. “I had a fight with my father and thought that coming to England would solve all my problems.”

“Ah,” Merlin says. “Is it working?”

Arthur grimaces and shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m actually thinking about going back tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Merlin frowns at him. “How long have you been here?”

Arthur looks around for the clock. “About eight hours, maybe?”

“Wow! We’ve made quite the impression on you, haven’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Arthur says with a small laugh. “I just … I came here to learn more about my mother because my father won’t tell me anything. They’re from London, originally, but my dad moved to the US after my mom died and, well, stopped talking about her. All I know is that they lived together in London in a house, were incredibly happy, then had me, and that’s when everything went to shit.”

Merlin makes an unhappy face. “That’s rough, mate.”

Arthur huffs a laugh. “You could say that, yeah.”

“So, you’re leaving on the morning flight, right?”

Arthur nods. “Yeah, probably.”

“In that case, are you up for a shag? You know, so not all of your memories of England are terrible?”

“No strings attached is my specialty,” Arthur says, “but aren’t you drunk? I prefer sober fucks.”

Merlin gives him another brilliant smile. “As a matter of fact, I’ve only had one pint.”

“Of what?” Arthur ventures.

“Lager,” Merlin replies. 

“Then why aren’t you home if you’re not in danger of being hungover?”

Merlin’s brows crease in a frown. “Let’s just say I was hoping for some company tonight and since I couldn’t find someone at the pub to shag, a midnight glass of wine with a friend sounded good.”

Arthur’s got the feeling that there’s more to it than that, but he doesn’t particularly care. He wants to fuck Merlin, and Merlin’s apparently not drunk off his ass. Arthur doesn’t hesitate for another moment, and leans forward to kiss Merlin. 

Merlin hums into it, and ends up licking Arthur’s bottom lip to coax Arthur into opening his mouth. Arthur does so, more than willingly, and it doesn’t take long before they’re properly making out on the couch like two randy teenagers.

“Want to take this upstairs?” Arthur asks once he’s properly breathless. 

“Absolutely,” Merlin echoes Arthur’s earlier response with a wide grin. 

They run up the stairs, Arthur leading the way, and Merlin following behind from where he bestows several generous compliments on Arthur’s ass.

“How do you feel about fucking it?” Arthur asks once they’re on the bed and Merlin has proceeded to grab Arthur’s ass and give it a good squeeze.

Merlin’s eyes go a shade darker as his pupils widen. “Very, very enthusiastic,” he says, then captures Arthur’s mouth in another hard kiss.

“Take off your clothes. I need to get condoms and lube from the bathroom.” Arthur pulls away and quickly walks the few paces across the hall to the bathroom where he’s left his toiletries bag.

By the time he returns, Merlin’s lying naked on the bed, stroking his dick in long, languid movements.

“Shit,” Arthur swears, and tosses the lube and condoms on the bed before quickly stripping out of his own clothes.

“Close the door,” Merlin says. “Don’t want Elyan wandering in.”

Arthur agrees that it would be creepy to have Gwen’s cat watching them fuck, so he closes the door. An appreciative noise from Merlin makes Arthur think that maybe he only cared about seeing Arthur’s ass again.

“How do you feel about foreplay?” Arthur asks once he’s back on the bed.

Merlin shrugs. “Depends on my mood. You’ll probably need some preparation, right?”

“Just a little. I like it rough, and I have enough casual sex at home that I don’t need you to stretch me for the next hour.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Merlin says, smirking. “Now, where did the lube go?”

They find it fast, and Merlin gives Arthur a quick few fingers just to take the edge off the burn. It doesn’t take long though before Arthur starts pushing for more.

“Alright, alright,” Merlin says, laughing. “I’m all for getting inside that gorgeous bum of yours, just tell me how you want it.”

“Fuck,” Arthur moans. “I don’t care.”

Merlin grins. “Then, considering you’re from the States, why don’t you ride me, Cowboy?”

Arthur rolls his eyes at the cheesy line, but doesn’t otherwise object. “Condom,” is all he says as he sits up. 

“You might want to do it, seeing how my hand’s covered in lube.”

Arthur concedes the point and quickly tears open a foil package and rolls the condom on Merlin’s dick. A nicely sized one, Arthur notes. Not as girthy as Arthur himself, but maybe half an inch longer, and uncut. Arthur especially likes that it’s curving slightly to the left. 

He watches as Merlin strokes himself with his slick hand, adding some more lube from the bottle as he goes. 

“That’s enough,” Arthur decides, and quickly straddles Merlin’s hips.

Merlin laughs. “Impatient, aren’t you? Never met such a pushy bottom before.”

“Yes, well, now you have,” Arthur says, but not unkindly. He just really, really wants Merlin to fuck him. He reaches back and steadies Merlin’s cock, guiding the tip to his hole with the other. Once he’s certain he’s got the angle right, he begins to sink down, happy when it catches and begins to slide inside almost immediately.

From there on out, it’s so easy to just sink down until Arthur’s sitting Merlin’s thighs. He’s got his eyes closed, lips parted, and just breathes for a moment.

“Bloody hell, you’re a sight,” breaks Merlin’s voice through the delicious haze of mild burning and pleasure. Arthur opens his eyes to see Merlin staring up at him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Arthur promises, and then he begins to move. He starts slowly, lifting up almost all the way, then sinking down again. He keeps it up for almost a minute, and then his thighs start to quiver so he moves faster.

Merlin keeps up a stream of encouragements, praise, and “fuck, Arthur, what are you that your thighs are so thick and strong?”

It makes Arthur smile, and at the same time heightens his arousal.

Once he’s certain that Merlin’s getting close, he lets himself fall forward so he can brace himself against the wall behind the bed, and starts to ride him faster and harder. The sounds he draws from Merlin are incredible, and Arthur thinks it’s probably a good thing that the next neighbors are at least half a mile away because Merlin is most definitely a screamer.

Merlin comes first, shouting his pleasure as he goes tense and pushes his hips up to meet Arthur’s thrust. That’s when Arthur slows down, and brings a hand to his own cock, jerking it hard and fast until he comes hard all over his hand, and Merlin’s stomach and chest. 

They collapse in a sticky heap of sweat, Arthur managing to avoid crushing Merlin as he slips off him and falls down next him on the bed.

“Bloody hell,” Merlin gasps. “That was amazing.”

Arthur just grins self-satisfied. “Just you wait for round two.”

The laugh he earns from Merlin tells Arthur that his challenge has been accepted.

~*~

Arthur’s trying his best to get the coffee machine to work, and it just. Won’t. Turn. On.

Merlin appears in the door after Arthur’s been quietly swearing at it for at least ten minutes.

“Need some help with that?”

Arthur straightens and runs a hand through his hair. “You’d think I’d be able to make some damn coffee at least.”

Merlin chuckles and moves closer, purposefully brushing up against Arthur’s side as he leans over and flips the switch on the socket. 

“Ah, yeah, I see what the problem was, now.” He grins at Merlin as the machine comes to life.

“It’s an easy mistake to make,” Merlin agrees. “Lucky for you, you had me here.”

“Lucky, indeed,” Arthur agrees.

“So,” Merlin begins at the same time as Arthur says, “Well.”

They grin at each other and Arthur gestures for Merlin to go first.

“So,” Merlin repeats, grinning. “Since you’re leaving on the next flight, there’s no point in asking to see you again.”

Arthur nods. “There isn’t.”

“Good, because things in my life aren’t exactly easy, and this just isn’t the best time to start anything.”

“Honestly, Merlin, it’s fine.”

“Right, no strings are your specialty.”

“Exactly,” Arthur confirms. He opens the nearest cupboard to find a mug. He’s just pouring the coffee when a phone starts ringing. 

“Ah, that’s me,” Merlin says and quickly pulls out his phone to answer it.

“No, ‘Thusa, darling, I’ll have to call you back, okay? I’m busy right now. Yes, kisses, talk to you later.”

Arthur’s turned back to what he was doing. Thusa, hm? ‘Not easy’, indeed.

“Sorry,” Merlin begins. “That was my-”

“No need to explain,” Arthur says. “I’ll be out of your life in a couple of minutes anyway. Why make it more complicated, right?”

“Right,” Merlin says.

Arthur sips his coffee slowly, and Merlin, apparently desperate to be doing something as well, fetches his coat and starts to get dressed - starting with the beanie hat.

“Okay, so,” Merlin says into the quiet, once he’s got the scarf around his neck. Miraculously, it’s not covering half of his face this time. “If your flight gets cancelled due to Icelandic Volcano eruptions, or should you change your mind about flying home, I’m getting together with a couple of friends at the local pub tonight for the quiz.”

“That’s a nice offer,” Arthur says carefully.

“But you really don’t want any strings,” Merlin finishes for him. “Sorry, yes, you said so.”

“It’s just easier that way,” Arthur tries to explain. 

“No, honestly, I get it.” Merlin holds up his hands defensively. “I’ll stop prying now.” 

Arthur smiles. “Thanks.”

Merlin pulls on his coat and buttons it up, then turns to face Arthur again.

“Alright, then,” he says. “I’ve got to go. It was great meeting you, Arthur.”

“Same to you, Merlin. I thoroughly enjoyed our meeting.” He smirks and it ends up producing the loveliest blush on Merlin’s cheeks. It would seem that late night-Merlin was much cockier than early morning-Merlin.

“I did too,” Merlin says, meeting Arthur’s eyes. “You were lovely.”

It takes Arthur by surprise. Merlin sounds sincere, and a lot like he thinks Arthur needs to know this. Arthur rubs the back of his neck and looks anywhere but at Merlin for a few moments.

“So were you,” he says finally.

Merlin gifts him with another dazzling smile, then slowly turns away and walks out the front door. Arthur keeps staring at the doorway for a while longer.

An hour later, Arthur’s waiting in line at the check in counter at Heathrow Airport, flashing back to the moment when he opened the front door to find Merlin on the other side of it, cheeks flushed and smile gorgeous. Not that Arthur could actually see his smile but images from last night are mixing in with that particular vision, and in the end it’s Merlin’s smiling face that keeps pushing to the front of his mind, and the way he’d kissed Arthur, as if they’d known each other forever, and this was the only thing still missing.

“Sir?” the clerk prompts him, and Arthur looks up.

“Your ticket?” she repeats, and Arthur stares down at it, Merlin’s face appearing before his inner eye once again.

~*~

Arthur had arrived too early. He’s already halfway through his first glass of beer - a pint, as he’d learned - by the time Merlin walks into the pub. He spots his friends first and waves and smiles over at them. It’s the two men in the far corner that Arthur’s been watching whenever he wasn’t staring at the door. One of them is tall and extremely muscular, the other one is ruggedly handsome with his beard and long hair that he keeps flipping as if he’s on a fashion shoot. 

Arthur’s been keeping his eyes on Merlin though, and sees when Merlin looks away from his friends to look around the room searchingly, until-

His smile is even more beautiful than Arthur remembered. It makes something lurch in his stomach, and Arthur finds himself smiling back and raising his glass in greeting.

Merlin tilts his head invitingly towards the table where his friends are sitting. Arthur nods, and gets up to join them.

~*~

The next morning finds Arthur dragging himself down the stairs into the kitchen where Merlin’s making coffee. It’s a weird kind of reverse déjà vu, and Arthur slumps into a chair at the small round table. 

“Good morning,” Merlin greets cheerfully and sets down a mug of coffee in front of Arthur. “Sleep well?”

Arthur grunts a reply, and decides to ingest some coffee before attempting any further conversation.

That’s when he spots his boxers hanging from the door frame. He almost chokes on the sip of coffee he’d just taken, and quickly sets down the mug before jumping up and grabbing them, clutching them to his chest with wide eyes. He’s got a flash of memory of singing “Santa Baby” - terribly off-key and with only half the lyrics in the right place - and doing a strip-tease.

“I had nothing to do with that,” Merlin says innocently.

“But you watched!” Arthur protests.

Merlin’s grin turns shit-eating in a split-second. “Oh, yes. I did.”

Arthur grimaces.

“We didn’t … Did we?” he asks, complete with inappropriate finger-through-circle of fingers hand gesture.

“No,” Merlin says, tone soothing. 

Arthur frowns. “Really?”

Merlin snorts. “Remember how you wouldn’t have slept with me had I been drunk? I don’t usually have sex with people who’re completely rat-arsed either.”

“What?” Arthur asks, not sure he’s still following the conversation.

“Drunk. Sloshed. Wankered. Pissed. Wasted,” Merlin provides helpfully.

Arthur holds up a hand to stop him talking.

“I get the picture, thanks. Why did you stay, then?”

Merlin cocks his head to the side, considering Arthur’s question.

“Well, first you weren’t sure you’d find your way back here without help, so I came along since I can find the cottage with my eyes bound, walking backwards while trollied.” 

That last expression makes Arthur snort into his mug, and Merlin grin in return.

“And when we got here, you looked a bit green around the edges so I stayed to make sure you wouldn’t pass out and choke on your own vomit. It’d be such a pity if someone as gorgeous as you died in such a disgusting manner.”

Arthur rolls his eyes even though he’s pleased about the compliment.

“So, after you’d done your impromptu striptease in the living room - you have a lovely singing voice, by the way, you should use it more while sober - I finally persuaded you to go upstairs and to bed. And just after I’d tucked you in and put a sizeable bucket next to the bed just to be on the safe side, you asked me to stay.”

There’s a fond expression on Merlin’s face that makes something inside Arthur’s stomach flutter. 

Luckily, what Merlin says next ruins the moment.

“Of course you begged me incessantly so I had no choice but to give in.”

Arthur huffs a laugh, and toasts Merlin with his mug. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time,” Merlin offers cheerfully. “Honestly, I’ve had a lot of fun since the moment I met you.”

Arthur inclines his head and makes a little ta-da gesture to show that of course he’d intentionally gotten drunk to entertain Merlin. The effect is ruined by Merlin’s phone ringing.

“Sorry, I need to get that,” Merlin says apologetically.

Arthur shrugs and gestures for him to go on while he continues sipping his coffee.

“Killy! Yes, hi!” Merlin answers the phone, and heads towards the door to go outside into the little garden.

Arthur only hears a muffled “Of course I’m happy you’re calling.” before the door falls shut. He doesn’t get up from his chair, but only because he can still see Merlin through the kitchen window from where he’s sitting, and this way he’ll draw much less attention to himself while he shamelessly watches him.

Merlin laughs, and looks genuinely happy to be talking to whoever it is on the phone.

“Thusa, Killy … Merlin’s a busy man,” Arthur muses quietly. 

He looks away and finishes his coffee before Merlin comes back inside.

There’s a loud sigh of relief when Merlin returns, with a quiet curse about “bloody freezing weather” that makes Arthur smile.

“So,” Merlin announces when he’s back in the kitchen, clutching his coffee mug like a lifeline. “We should go into town.”

Arthur frowns. “What for?”

“To get some lunch, first of all, and to get to know each other.”

“Why would we do that?”

“Because there’s no reason why we shouldn’t,” Merlin says. 

And really, there’s nothing Arthur could say to argue with that.

Merlin drives, thank God, and Arthur keeps stealing glances at him. Merlin, apparently a diligent driver, does not take his eyes off the road, but he does smile, and even blush as if he can feel Arthur’s eyes on him. Arthur chuckles, and doesn’t stop looking.

The restaurant where Merlin takes him is nice but not, as Merlin calls it, posh. “Good, British kitchen,” Merlin promises. “If you’re here you need some proper English food. Start with faggots, maybe, and some spotted dick for dessert.”

Merlin says it so loud that everyone can hear, but Arthur’s the only one who splutters indignantly. “I thought you Brits were reserved!” 

Merlin laughs. “Don’t believe everything you watch on the telly. And those are the names of the dishes. Nothing naughty about it.”

Arthur doesn’t believe Merlin until he has a look at the menu, and yes, indeed, there it is. Faggots, and Spotted Dick. Apparently the first one is a dish with mashed potatoes, meat cut-offs, and peas, and the other one’s a sort of fruit cake, served with custard. Arthur orders both, but blushes while saying the names out loud. The waitress looks as if she’s taking particular pleasure in watching tourists squirm uncomfortably in their seats.

Once Merlin’s got his root beer, and Arthur a proper pint (he’s ordered it like that, much to Merlin and the waitress’ amusement), Arthur leans forward on the table.

“So, you’re a newspaper editor,” he says.

“I am.”

“And what kind of editor are you?”

“The kind that’s way too lax about deadlines.”

Arthur smiles. “And have you always wanted to work in journalism?”

Merlin shakes his head and laughs. “I feel like I’m on a job interview. Is this how you date in the States? It’s very intense.”

Arthur grins. “Yes, this is how we behave on dates. You have to apply for an appointment beforehand. Full CV and cover letter expected.”

Merlin laughs louder. “I bet!”

Once they’ve calmed down, Merlin takes a sip from his beer. “But to answer your question, yes, I’ve always wanted to go into journalism. My dad was a journalist, and my mum’s been chief editor of the same newspaper for over twenty years.”

Arthur looks impressed. 

“Okay,” Merlin says. “Your turn.”

Arthur immediately sits up straighter, much to Merlin’s amusement. He grins back just to show that he did it on purpose.

“My father made me CEO of his record company last year. We produce movie scores, but also lyrical albums. You might’ve heard of us. Camelot Records?”

It’s Merlin’s turn to look impressed. “Seriously? You own Camelot Records? It’s only, what, among the top five biggest record companies in the world.”

Arthur smiles proudly. “Third biggest. Sony took a hit and has been bumped down to fourth place only last month.”

Merlin laughs. “Right. So I’m having lunch with a billionaire, essentially.”

“Essentially,” Arthur says, feeling nervous now. Some people are intimidated by his money or his name, or even his father’s legacy.

“It’s no wonder you’re such a prat in bed,” Merlin says, smirking. “Used to getting what you want, aren’t you?”

It brings the blush back to Arthur’s cheeks faster than he thought possible, and he quickly hides his face behind his beer.

“So, what about your family?” Merlin asks.

“Well, dad’s retired,” Arthur says, “like I said. And I never knew my mom. She died in childbirth.”

Arthur waits for the inevitable ‘Oh, I’m so sorrys’ and ‘That must’ve been hard on yous’ that accompany this statement.

“My dad died a couple of years ago,” is what Merlin says, though. And Arthur offers him a small, knowing smile. They’ve probably both had enough condolences to last them a lifetime.

“My parents lived in London, you know,” Arthur says after a moment. “I was actually born in this country. Two years ago you’d even have known it just from looking at me. Roman nose, crooked front teeth.” He grins, showing off his straight teeth.

“Traitor,” Merlin says. “That’s worse than me having my ears set back. Should’ve seen me as a teenager. Dumbo was the kindest name my peers came up with.”

“How’s that worse? Were they causing medical problems?” Arthur asks.

“No,” Merlin admits. “It’s just that everyone kept commenting on them.”

“There you go,” Arthur says. “Then your reason is no better than mine.”

Merlin shrugs. “I suppose it’s not.”

That’s when their food arrives. The faggots (Arthur still cringes inwardly every time he even just so much as thinks the word) look delicious, despite the name, and Merlin’s steak and ale pie looks just as good.

“Why’d your dad leave?” Merlin asks right as Arthur takes his first bite. Arthur chews slowly, and swallows before replying.

“After mom died, he didn’t want any reminders. He thought a fresh start would do him good, and so he moved away. Took three of his closest friends with him, too.”

“And you, of course,” Merlin adds, pointing at Arthur with his for.

“Yes, and me, of course.” He shrugs. “He hasn’t been back in twenty-five years.”

“That’s rough,” Merlin comments. “But at least you’re here now. Ready to explore the mother country, back to the roots, and all that. Maybe you can sing about it when you get home, produce your own album.”

Arthur snorts. “Yeah, right. Pull the other one.”

Merlin just winks at him.

“Is there anything in particular you want to see?” Merlin asks after a few more bites. “I mean, apart from the most obvious sights, that is?”

Arthur nods, and waits until he’s swallowed his food before answering.

“One of my father’s friends told me where my parents used to live before dad moved us. I’d like to go there, see if maybe anyone remembers my mom. Dad never talks about her, and neither do his friends. I think they’re respecting his wish not to be reminded.” His face probably shows how annoyed he is by their loyalty. He gets that they’re trying to be good friends to his dad, but why can’t he know more about his mother? What if all of them die and then no one remembers her anymore? Arthur doesn’t want that to happen.

“Good thing you’re staying a while, then,” Merlin says, sounding approving. “Maybe I can use my connections at the newspaper and see if there were any news articles featuring her. Might be a long shot, but you never know, right?”

Arthur smiles at him gratefully. “That’d be awesome, thanks.”

Merlin shrugs. “Sure, no problem.” He looks up and smiles at Arthur. “We all deserve to know where we come from, right?”

Arthur nods. “That would make a great album title, you know?”

Merlin snorts. “You can have it for a million quid.”

“You’ll regret selling it so cheaply when I sell it for ten times that amount,” Arthur says, grinning at him.

“What can I say?” Merlin says. “I’m just a country bumpkin, aren’t I?”

Arthur just laughs because Merlin’s definitely something, that’s for sure.

After lunch, they go for a walk, and play a silly game of tag that ends with Arthur trapping Merlin against a wall and making out until they’re both shivering from cold.

The sun’s already starting to go down by the time Merlin drops Arthur off at Gwen’s cottage.

“I’ve had a great day,” Arthur says, turning in his seat to look at Merlin.

“Me too,” Merlin agrees, taking off his seatbelt already.

“It’s fine,” Arthur says. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. I can make it myself today, I think. I only had the one beer, after all.”

Merlin gives him a confused look. “It’s okay if you don’t want to invite me in, Arthur. You can just say so.”

Arthur wrinkles his nose. “It’s not that, exactly. I was going to take a shower, and a nap, and, well … You’ve been checking your watch for the last hour, so I’m guessing you’ve got somewhere to be anyway.”

Merlin looks a bit guilty at that. “I suppose you’re right. I do have to be somewhere, actually.”

“Okay,” Arthur says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Okay.” He hesitates for just a moment, then leans over and kisses Merlin. 

“What’s that for?” Merlin asks quietly once Arthur’s pulled back.

“Today,” Arthur says. 

Merlin smiles. “Sure you don’t want me to come in?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, much too quickly. Merlin doesn’t actually want to stay, he can tell, and Arthur much rather hold on to the illusion of not being the third affair Merlin’s having this week. Why that should bother him in the first place is a contemplation for another day.

“Okay,” Merlin says, nodding. “Then you should probably get out before I take you along after all.”

“Right,” Arthur says, and opens the door. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Merlin says, and smiles that beautiful soft smile that Arthur wants to keep in a drawer somewhere to bring out and look at whenever he needs to feel good about himself.

He shuts the passenger door, and turns away, managing to walk the few metres to the front door without slipping on the frozen garden path. Just as he unlocks the door, he hears the car start and drive off.

~*~

Arthur’s been trying to nap for the last hour. He took the shower he promised himself after he got back from his date with Merlin, then changed into soft sweatpants and a loose fitting t-shirt before making himself comfortable on Gwen’s couch for that nap - and just couldn’t fall asleep.

The thing is that his mind keeps wandering, and once it does, it inevitably ends up at Merlin. Merlin’s beautiful face, his eyes, his mouth … the cheekbones. And when it’s not Merlin’s face or the way he kisses Arthur like it’s all he wants to do for the rest of his life, then it’s Merlin’s hands, his chest, the V of his hipbones. Thinking about that leads to thinking about Merlin’s cock, and that ends with Arthur getting hard and rubbing himself through the sweatpants.

“Right,” he says to Elyan, who’s been lounging on the armchair closest to the fire. “What have I got to lose, right?”

Elyan doesn’t answer, as usual.

“I mean, so what if Merlin has a string of people ready to be booty called, right? I’m only here for two weeks, then I go back home anyway.”

Elyan yawns, blinks at Arthur, then goes back to sleep.

“Exactly,” Arthur tells him. “Might as well make the most of my time with him. I mean, here. In England.”

He gets up and heads upstairs to get dressed. It takes him over an hour to settle on an outfit - dark jeans, and a grey henley, always a good look for him - and then another half hour at the shop to pick up some snacks and wine.

Merlin’s address is on the fridge, listed under emergency contacts, and Arthur drives Gwen’s tiny car there without causing any accidents, despite the slippery snow-slick covered street.

The house is another charming cottage but bigger than Gwen’s. There’s a thick wall around the garden, and Arthur wonders if it’s overgrown with roses or ivy in the summer. He wishes he could come back and find out some time. He walks through a low stone arch into the garden. The brick path is illuminated by small lamps near the ground, and Arthur can see the lights on inside the house. He focuses on getting to the front door without falling and doesn’t look left or right.

It takes only a few seconds for the front door to open after Arthur rings the bell, and he does his little ta-da gesture again and says: “Surprise.”

Merlin stares for a moment before nodding. “Definitely,” is all he says, and Arthur decides to explain before Merlin can ask what Arthur’s doing there.

“Sorry for being so weird earlier. I’m not sure why I wouldn’t let you in for a quickie, at least. It’s very unlike me not to grasp an opportunity like that and run with it. Anyway-” 

He trails off when he notices how intent Merlin is on keeping the door as closed as possible without actually shutting it in Arthur’s face.

“You’re not alone, are you,” Arthur says knowingly. It shouldn’t disappoint him as much as it does.

Merlin shakes his head. “Sorry, I meant to-”

“No!” Arthur says quickly, then cringes and lowers his voice. “It’s fine, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over like this.”

Merlin looks like he’s about to say something else when the door swings open wider and a little girl with long, white-blond hair appears.

She looks up at Merlin and pulls on the hem of his sweater. “Who is it, daddy?” she whispers loud enough for Arthur to hear.

His head snaps up to Merlin. “Daddy?” he mouths, and Merlin scrunches up his face, then shrugs once. “Yeah. I am daddy. I’ve tried to tell you before.”

He puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Arthur, this is my daughter, Aithusa.” He looks at Arthur with a small smile. “Thusa,” he says, looking back down at the girl. “This is my friend Arthur.”

“Hello, Arthur,” she says. “How do you do?”

Arthur huffs a laugh, and looks at Merlin, who just smiles and shrugs. Arthur looks back down at the little girl. “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she says. “Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh,” Arthur begins. “I should probably head ho-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because in that moment, a little redheaded boy shows up on Merlin’s other side and holds up his arms to be picked up. Merlin pulls him up into his arms, settling him against his hip.

“Daddy? Who is this?” the boy asks Merlin as he wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulder, waving a blankie in the other.

Merlin smiles at him. “That’s Arthur, my friend.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Arthur, this is my son, Killian.”

“Hey,” Arthur says, smiling at the boy. The penny drops, finally.

“Oh!” he says. “They’re Thusa and Killy!”

Merlin smiles. “Yeah,” he says, but a moment later, his attention is taken away from Arthur again when Thusa tugs on his hem again, saying “Dad!” rather urgently.

“Oh, yes!” Merlin says, apparently remembering something important. “Come in, please.”

Arthur wants to turn around and leave, actually, but the hopeful looks from the kids do him in, and so he steps inside. While Merlin’s busy setting down Killian and closing the front door, Arthur quickly throws glances into the rooms he can see from the entrance hall. There’s a living room off to the right, and a kitchen to the left, and no spouse he can see - but that doesn’t mean there’s none there.

He turns back around to see Killian and Aithusa watching him, and he smiles at them, knowing full well that it’s forced.

Merlin stands at the side, looking just as awkward as Arthur feels. Arthur sets down the bag of treats he brought and Killian immediately reaches for it. “Is that for us?” he asks excitedly. 

Arthur thinks about what he put in there, and decides that no, actually, he can’t let the kids have a go at it. 

“I’m sorry, no. Your dad will have to have a look at it first and take out all the things that aren’t for little boys and girls,” he says, then looks at Merlin meaningfully. Unfortunately, Arthur can’t take any pleasure in Merlin’s embarrassed blush. The whole situation is too uncomfortable. 

He pulls off his coat, stuffing his scarf and gloves in the pockets, and steps closer to Merlin under the guise of asking where to put it.

“Is their other parent in the picture?” he asks quietly enough so that only Merlin can hear.

Merlin shakes his head, and Arthur nods, handing him the coat.

“Wow!” Thusa says, and Arthur quickly turns back around to check that she didn’t unpack the bag after all. He has no desire to explain lube and condoms to a primary schooler.

“You look like Ken!” she exclaims, eyes shining with excitement.

Arthur shoots a look over his shoulder, back at Merlin. Merlin’s laughing quietly, and Arthur rolls his eyes at him before turning back.

“Thank you,” he says to Aithusa, smiling at her more genuinely than before. 

“Daddy?” Killian interrupts. “Can we have hot chocolate now?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, bending down to him and ruffling his hair. “Why don’t you and Thusa pick out your mugs, and find all the ingredients, and Arthur and I will follow in a minute?”

“Okay!” Killian accepts, and runs off towards the kitchen, followed by his big sister.

Arthur waits until they’ve rounded the corner before stepping closer to Merlin. 

“D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D?” he asks, spelling it out, just in case the kids are still within earshot.

Merlin shakes his head. “W-I-D-O-W-E-R.” He smiles sadly at Arthur. “A little over three years, now.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, but before he can do anything else, Killian shouts from the kitchen. “We’re done!”

Merlin huffs a laugh. “Do you like hot chocolate, Arthur?”

“Definitely,” Arthur says.

Fifteen minutes - and an almost-accident with boiling milk - later, Merlin’s handing out mugs of hot chocolate, complete with baby marshmallows. He reminds his kids to blow on it because they’ll burn their tongues if they don’t, and when one of them protests that the other has more marshmallows, he smoothly disagrees and says that they each have five. While Killian makes sure to count his marshmallows twice, Merlin hands Arthur a mug.

“Yours has a shot of eggnog instead of marshmallows.” He winks, and Arthur grins.

Killian ends up in Merlin’s lap (spilling some of his hot chocolate on Merlin’s jeans), and then Merlin’s doing an impression of some children’s TV character that Arthur doesn’t recognize. The kids are roaring with laughter, and Arthur does his part by deliberately giving himself a milk foam mustache after taking a sip of his hot chocolate, and pretending to be unable to wipe it all off in one go. Thusa especially finds this funny and eventually comes over to do it for him.

It’s much later when the kids are finally in bed (both of them begging Arthur to help their daddy read the bedtime story and Arthur unable to resist them), and Merlin and Arthur can sit down and talk.

“They love you,” Merlin says. “Thusa is usually pretty shy around strangers, but she took right to you, and Killy was well-behaved for once, which, I swear, is a first.” He laughs.

Arthur smiles. “They’re great,” he says. He’s seen pictures around the house of Merlin, the kids, and a dark haired woman he suspects is their mother. Unless both Merlin and the woman dyed their hair, Arthur thinks it’s safe to assume that their kids are adopted. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but he is curious about how all of this came about. He’s not going to pry, though. It’s hardly his place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell me about them, though,” he says instead. “I mean, you’re the one who wanted to go on a date and talk about families, and all of that.”

Merlin grimaces. “I know, I know. But when you wouldn’t let me explain after Thusa called the other day, I figured that you didn’t actually want to know anything else,” he explains. “They were staying with my mum for the weekend so I could go out and have some adult fun - which I had! And so I just didn’t tell you about them for fear of scaring you off.”

Arthur nods thoughtfully. “I suppose I can understand that. I’m only here for two weeks anyway, so why bring the kids into the affair, right? I mean, you probably didn’t plan on introducing me to them anyway, so why bring them up?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, nodding along. “Exactly. It was just easier that way.”

Arthur leans back into the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m sorry I showed up like this. As long as we keep it G-rated in front of them, it’ll be okay, though, right? For now I’m just your friend Arthur from America who’s on holiday in Auntie Gwen’s house.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says again. “We’ll just go with that, and you probably shouldn’t come around here again so they don’t get used to you too much.”

“That’s fair,” Arthur agrees, then sighs. “This holiday fling just got more complicated than expected.”

“Too complicated?” Merlin asks, sounding nervous, and when Arthur looks over at him, he’s actually biting at his lower lip. 

Arthur shakes his head and leans forward, gently pulling Merlin’s lip away from his teeth with his thumb.

“No,” he says. “Not too complicated.”

He leans in the rest of the way and kisses Merlin. 

Not at all too complicated, he thinks, trying not to worry about how fast he’s falling for Merlin, and how he’d begun to hope that maybe they could be something real, given a proper chance. With the kids in the picture, though, Arthur isn’t sure it could still happen. Committing to a long distance relationship with someone is hard enough, but committing to a long distance relationship, complete with family is a whole new dimension of difficult.

~*~

It’s Sunday night, and Gwen’s in the middle of a little dinner party with Uther (whom she’s allowed to call that, now), Geoffrey, and Gaius, Uther’s two closest friends who’ve followed him from England. Originally there was a third friend with them, Gorlois - and as soon as Gwen heard that, she questioned Uther about whether he only took to her because her name starts with a G as well. Uther denied it, but Gwen still has her doubts. Anyway, Gorlois died a little over ten years ago, and since then it’s only been the three of them.

They’re in the middle of a hilarious story involving a trombone player, a bottle of champagne, and a lot of glitter, when George announces that they have another visitor.

A moment later, Leon steps into the room, and Gwen immediately blushes, remembering their unfortunate encounter in the hall yesterday.

The men all greet him with friendly claps on the back (and one on the arse from Geoffrey), and Leon sits down next to Gwen, leaning in close to say “Hi.”

She smiles back. “Hey.”

“So, you’re having a party, and you didn’t invite me?”

“Well, I don’t know you that well, and it’s not my party. Uther’s the host.”

Leon raises a brow in surprise. “You call him by his first name?”

Gwen smirks. “I do. He’s lovely, once he stops being an arse. Maybe you should try that.”

It makes Leon laugh, and all three of the older men look over.

“They’re having a secret conversation,” Geoffrey stage whispers.

“No, we’re not,” Gwen says with a smile.

“We’re not?” Leon says, feigning disappointment. “And here I was hoping …”

“You behave yourself, young man,” Gaius says, and Gwen’s sure that he’s raising his eyebrow deliberately higher just to mess with them.

“Always do, Gaius,” Leon says, inclining his head. 

“Gwen here’s a special young woman,” Uther says, and that seems to truly shock Leon. Gwen just preens. “You’re not to make her one of your flings.”

That catches Gwen’s interest and she turns to look at Leon with raised eyebrows of her own.

Leon quickly holds up his hands in defence. “It’s not as bad as he makes it sound.”

“Uh huh,” Gwen says, unconvinced. 

“Really!” Leon protests. “I always call the next day!”

The three old men break into laughter, and then Gwen can’t hold back either.

Leon grumbles something to himself, and takes a sip of the wine George just provided.

“I won’t be producing my next album at Camelot if you’re not nice to me, Uther,” he warns.

Uther shrugs. “That’s Arthur’s problem, not mine. Although I think that your contract’s ironclad. Two more years during which you have to produce at least one more album.”

Leon gives a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, yes, I know. As soon as his Highness has returned from tea with the Queen, I’ll talk to him about it.”

“You do that, and now stop talking about work. We’re here to celebrate.”

“Hear, hear!” both Geoffrey and Gaius shout, raising their glasses.

“You promised me stories about music legends,” Gwen reminds them after taking a sip of her water. “So you’ll have to talk about work at least a little bit.”

“Well,” Geoffrey begins. “There was that one time I slept with Mick Jagger.”

“You did not!” Gaius protests.

“Did too,” Geoffrey insists. “Or it might have been Alice Cooper.”

“That’s more likely,” Uther interjects.

Next to her, Leon shakes with suppressed laughter as the three of them continue to argue which one of the older rock stars is more likely to have had a quickie with Geoffrey the record company lawyer.

It’s well into the night when Geoffrey and Gaius retire to one of the guest rooms in Uther’s wing of the house. 

It still baffles Gwen that the house is big enough to even  _ have _ wings. According to Arthur she’s allowed to go anywhere except Uther’s part of the house, but Uther already told her that she’s welcome to visit him in his library any time she wishes.

Leon apparently only came by to get something else from Arthur’s music studio in the basement, but then felt obligated to stay for dinner, wine, and conversation.

Now he doesn’t just have a case full of microphones in his right hand, but a bag of Tupperware filled with leftovers in his left. 

“This has been a lot of fun,” he says. 

“It has,” Gwen agrees. “I’d never have expected to like Uther and his friends this much after our first meeting. He’s really quite sweet when he allows himself to open up.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh this much,” Leon muses. “And Arthur and him have a lot of issues to work out. I think that’s part of why Arthur went away for Christmas.” He frowns. “It’s probably why Uther’s taking to you. You’re a safe substitute while Arthur’s not here.”

Gwen frowns. “You sure know how to flatter a girl. No wonder you’re so popular with the ladies.”

Leon looks sheepish. “I only meant that you’re not likely to go and tell on Uther to Arthur, and that it’s good for Uther to find out that nothing bad’s going to happen when he lets down his hair a little. What little’s left of it, anyway.

Gwen snorts. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I often am.” He winks at her, and Gwen rolls her eyes. “Anyway,” he says. “I should be going.”

He leans forward to kiss her cheek. “I’ve had a great time tonight. Maybe we could do this again sometime next week? Preferably without the three old Stooges?”

Gwen laughs. “We can get together, sure, but don’t think I’ll be falling into your bed, Mister Knight. I’m not looking for a holiday fling.”

Leon feigns shock. “I would never presume such a thing, Miss Smith.”

Gwen laughs, and finally opens the front door. A warm gust of wind tears at the hem of her skirt, almost giving her a Marilyn Monroe moment before she steps aside and out of the way. “Try not to blow away,” she says to Leon as he steps outside. “And good night.”

“Good night,” Leon says, smiling at her. This time, Gwen thinks, it’s a genuine smile, and not something Leon does because he knows it makes him look handsome and irresistible. She likes it.

~*~

Merlin has to go back to work on Monday, and Arthur spends the day at the cottage, planning where he wants to go in London in search of his mom’s memory. He knows from Gaius where his parents used to live, so he’ll start there. It takes him most of the day to weigh his options as far as getting there is concerned, and in the end he decides to take the train, and then get a cab.

It still takes him half a day to get there. He misses the first train because he’s had a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, and then the one he catches is a slow connection that stops at every train station it passes. It’s well past noon before he arrives at King’s Cross, and then of course he has to stop and find platform 9 ¾ for a picture. 

Later, while he’s sitting in the back of a cab, slowly making his way through traffic, he regrets not braving the tube after all.

Finally he’s standing outside the house that used to be his parents’. It’s one of those high-end London city houses in Belgravia, complete with pillars framing the front door and a separate entry to the basement that used to be used by servants. Or, given that this is where the rich people live, probably still is used for staff.

Gaius told him to ring the bell at number twelve, rather than his parents’ old door. Alice Collins is an old friend of Gaius and she’ll be able to answer some of Arthur’s questions, so Gaius had said.

Alice is Gaius’ age, as it turns out. Long, wavy hair in a braid, sharp eyes, and a kind smile.

“You must be Arthur,” she says and lets him inside without another question. Arthur worries for her safety if she’s that trusting, but he’s also glad not to have to bargain with her to be let inside.

“Gaius told me you’d be coming and sent me your picture,” she explains once Arthur’s taken off his shoes and put them neatly by the door. 

“I didn’t know the post travelled this fast,” Arthur says as he takes off his coat and puts it on a hanger.

“We email, dear,” Alice says, smiling at Arthur. “We’re old, not incapable of adapting.”

Arthur ducks his head and apologizes for his rudeness, but Alice pats his arm and tells him it’s alright. She asks him to follow her to the kitchen so they can have a cuppa and some biscuits.

Arthur’s not big on tea, but he’ll have some to be polite.

It turns out that Alice was his mother’s midwife when he was born. She tells him a few stories about Ygraine’s pregnancy with him, how happy she was to finally be pregnant after so many miscarriages. She was already 41 years old when she got pregnant, and thus the risk of miscarriage or problems during the pregnancy were higher than if she’d gotten pregnant ten years earlier.

“But she wanted you more than anything else,” Alice says with a warm smile. “She followed all the doctor’s orders, had plenty of rest, adjusted her diet.” Alice sighs. “It was a tragedy, losing her, but I know that she would be proud of such a handsome and successful son. Gaius has told me all about you, you know.”

Arthur forces a smile. Logically he knows that it’s not his fault that his mother died, but he still feels guilty whenever he thinks about it. 

Alice seems to sense his sadness, and puts a hand on his forearm.

“Ygraine was a wonderful woman, and she’s greatly missed,” she begins, and Arthur winces. He tries to pull away, but Alice holds onto him with more strength than he expected from such an old woman.

“But you must always remember that in the few minutes she had with you, she was the happiest she’s ever been. There’s nothing in this world she loved more than she did you, Arthur.  _ That’s _ what you should always remember whenever you think of her.”

Arthur swallows thickly and quickly picks up his cup to drain it before he bursts into tears or does something equally embarrassing.

Alice just pats his arm again and then pulls away, silently refilling his cup while Arthur struggles to compose himself.

“You might want to talk to her best friend,” Alice says after a few moments. “I’ll write down her name for you, but that’s all I have, I’m afraid. All I know is that she likes art galleries and museums. You’ll probably find her in one of them. I’ll make you a list.”

Arthur nods, and finally manages a proper smile. “Thank you, Ms Collins. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course, dear. Anything for Ygraine’s lovely boy.” 

Arthur drinks more tea and eats more biscuits while Alice writes down everything she knows of his mother’s best friend, and as it begins to grow dark outside, Arthur finally leaves the warm, homey kitchen to go back to an equally cosy home - even if it’s not his own.

~*~

On Wednesday, he spends all day at the Victoria & Albert Museum in Knightsbridge without success, and Thursday at the Tate Modern is equally luckless.

He debates going into town on Friday as well, but Merlin’s warned him of how the number of weekend tourists spikes dramatically on Fridays, and so Arthur decides to stay in the village, take a long walk, and stock up on groceries. 

It’s Saturday night before Merlin has the time to get away, leaving the kids with Gwaine and Percy for the night. Arthur’s just changed into his pyjamas to make himself comfortable on the couch when the doorbell rings.

Merlin’s barely through the door when he literally jumps Arthur. Arthur just barely manages to catch him by grabbing onto his arse. Merlin’s got his legs wrapped around Arthur’s waist and is kissing him frantically.

“Been thinking about this,” he pants, “all week.” 

Arthur leans Merlin against the nearest wall, trapping him there with his body. “Me too,” he admits, kissing him hard. “Want you so much.”

Merlin’s clawing at the back of Arthur’s shirt, pulling it up. He gets it all the way over Arthur’s head before it catches on his arms. Arthur laughs, and carefully takes a hand off Merlin’s ass, using more of his body weight to pin Merlin in compensation. With a bit of effort they manage to get Arthur’s shirt off.

“We could get more comfortable, you know,” Arthur points out.

“But then where would be the fun?” Merlin grins slyly as he takes off his own shirt.

“In me not having burning thighs tomorrow?” Arthur asks, leaning forward to kiss him. 

“You’ll live.” Merlin rolls his hips, rubbing his ass against Arthur’s crotch. 

“Yeah, I just might,” Arthur groans. “I can’t let go of you though, so you’ll have to open your pants yourself.”

Merlin chuckles. “Fair enough.”

He keeps one hand on Arthur’s shoulder to hold on, and manages to open his jeans one-handed.

“That’s it,” Arthur breathes. “Keep moving.” He squeezes Merlin’s ass to encourage him to keep grinding against him.

Merlin nods shakily, and rolls his hips again. “Like that?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Arthur groans. “Feels good. Stroke yourself. Want to see you.”

Merlin bites his lower lip and pulls his cock from his pants, already hard and leaking. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Show me.”

Arthur hoists Merlin up again, pushing him harder against the wall, putting more pressure and friction on his own cock inside his pyjama pants that way.

Merlin let’s his head fall back against the wall, bracing his shoulders against it and rocking down firmly against Arthur’s crotch. “How’s that?”

“Great,” Arthur pants. “Come on now, get yourself off.”

Merlin wraps a hand around his cock and begins to stroke in long, hard pulls, all the while continuing the slow grind against Arthur’s cock.

Arthur braces a hand against the wall beside Merlin’s head and matches his rhythm, thrusting against his ass.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, and then comes, breath hitching on a low moan. 

“Fuck.” Arthur thrusts hard a few more times, and comes inside his pants. His knees wobble and his thighs burn with exhaustion, and it’s all he can do not to collapse onto the floor. He manages to lower Merlin more or less gently, and then slumps forward, forearms braced against the wall either side of Merlin’s head, forehead pressed against Merlin’s shoulder.

“Knew you could hold me,” Merlin says as his breathing finally slows down. 

Arthur smiles, and turns his head to nuzzle against Merlin’s jaw.

“Did you, now?”

Merlin hums in reply. “With those thighs, and that ego, of course you’d prove yourself.”

It makes Arthur laugh, and he finally pulls back far enough to kiss Merlin deeply, pressing their bodies tightly together against the wall.

“What say you we put your boxers in the wash with my pjs, and have another round in a more comfortable position?” 

“I say that’s a great idea.” 

“Good, then get naked,” Arthur says, and pulls away entirely to take off his own clothes. He’s always been a defender of the “Lead by example” philosophy, after all.

~*~

It’s not until Wednesday that Gwen finds the time to go out for lunch with Leon.

He invites her to a trendy restaurant in Hollywood, and Gwen tells him all about the sightseeing she did.

“I met Jude Law!” she says excitedly. “At the Warner Brothers Studio tour. I got lost on my way to the toilets, and there he was, all charming and handsome,” she gushes, and Leon smiles.

“Did you get his autograph?”

“Of course,” she says. “And a bunch of pictures. He’s been so charming. And handsome.”

“I bet he was happy to meet someone from home,” Leon teases and Gwen giggles in reply. 

“I’m sure he meets more than enough Brits every week,” she says. 

“But none as beautiful,” Leon flirts, and Gwen rolls her eyes, even though she enjoys the compliment.

“Anyway,” she moves on, “yesterday I went to the Farmers Market with Uther. He was incredibly reluctant, of course, but I made him try all kinds of foods, and he ended up spending more money there than I did.”

She can tell Leon doesn’t believe her, so she shrugs. “He’s not that bad once he allows himself to drop the act of the grumpy old Scrooge. He even warned me about you. He told me that you have a new woman hanging on your arm every month, sometimes even every week, and that I’m much too good for you.”

“Did he?” Leon asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Not that I needed him to do that, mind you. I know your type, and I’m in the habit of keeping a clear head on my shoulders.”

Leon’s smile turns … not quite predatory, but definitely purposeful, as if he’s accepted the challenge. Gwen decides to change the subject.

“You should’ve seen Uther’s face when he tried Sushi for the first time. One word. Wasabi.”

Leon barks a laugh, and Gwen joins after just a moment. 

They speak about Leon’s work after that. He’s a singer/songwriter for Camelot Records, and a close friend of the family since he and Arthur were still boys, it would seem.

“I’ve spent every summer and Christmas in England, though,” he says. “That’s why I’ve still got my charming British accent.”

Gwen snorts. “Only you and gullible Americans think that,” she informs him. “You sound too posh and there’s too much of an American lilt to your words to fool a proper Englishwoman.”

Leon’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “Is that so? I’ll have to try harder, then.”

Gwen shakes her head. “I don’t think you do. You clearly get enough attention as it is. The only one you could hope to impress is me, and I already know you’re at least half American.”

“Unless it’s a carefully cultivated disguise,” he flirts, and while Gwen smiles back and allows that, yes, perhaps it is, she leans back in her chair. 

Leon’s charming, and handsome, and funny, and clearly interested in her. But she? She’s here to get over Lance, who’s also charming and handsome and interested in her, and just as fickle as Leon, if her instincts - and Uther’s warning - can be trusted, even if it’s a different kind of fickle.

She doesn’t need that, and what’s more: she doesn’t want it. After ten years of uncertainty about her relationship with Lance, she needs someone dependable - that is, if she’s going to get into a new relationship at all.

So, after lunch, when Leon asks to take her out to dinner before Christmas, she tells him she’ll let him know, but not to hold his breath. Leon accepts it with a small bow that looks ridiculously sincere, and then drives her back to Arthur’s house.

~*~

The decision’s taken out of her hand the next day when she runs into him at the cinema. Uther’s been nagging her to go see one of the latest films because “the score is outstanding. Camelot production, of course.”

So here Gwen is, waiting in line for a ticket to see the latest instalment in some fantasy/sci-fi drama that’s incredibly popular, when someone calls her name. Given that not many people in this city know her name, she’s only marginally surprised to find Leon walking towards her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, smiling at her.

Gwen shoots him a look that clearly says “You did not just ask me that.”

“I’m queuing to meet the president,” she says drily. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Leon laughs, and holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, it was a silly question. What I meant was: What are you here to watch?”

Gwen sighs. “Uther pestered me to go see this sci fi movie so I can tell him that the score is beautiful,” she says. 

“Right, Camelot did the music for that new Star Fight movie,” Leon says, nodding along. “It’s supposed to be good.”

Leon’s not the type to tap his fingers nervously, or jiggle a leg, but from where Gwen’s standing, he’s looking nervous and undecided even without the physical cues.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” he asks finally.

Gwen shrugs. “Free country,” she says, winking at him.

He exhales another laugh, and nods. “True,” he say. “But would you mind if I did?”

Gwen takes half a step back and looks him up and down, making her face stern and pensive.

“I’m not sure,” she says at length. “I guess you could always come along, and if you start bothering me at any point in time, I’ll kick you out. I’ll be sitting near the aisle anyway.”

“Deal,” Leon agrees, and his bright, happy grin makes Gwen laugh in return.

“Fine. You can pay, then, since you’re already here.” She smirks and turns back towards the front.

~*~

“You were right!” she tells Uther a few hours later.

“I often am,” Uther says. “But I believe you’re referring to the music of that Star Something film.”

“Yes,” Gwen says emphatically. They just sat down for dinner. Gwen only got back half an hour ago. Leon took her out to coffee after the film - which Gwen enjoyed immensely despite not having seen any of the other Star Fight parts - and they ended up talking for hours about anything that came to mind.

Gwen learned that Leon’s having a hard time with his new album, and in turn she confided that she’s been thinking about a career switch from journalism to fiction author for a while.

Just before they said goodbye, Leon asked her if she’d like to visit the small gig he’ll be playing the next day.

“It’s just a small club,” he’d said. “But I’ll put you on the guest list and you can drink for free all night, if you like.”

The promise of free drinks, and a night out in LA with music in a small club sounded too good to pass up so she’d agreed.

“The music was amazing,” Gwen says to Uther. “It worked perfectly for every scene. I think Leon even teared up a little at the end.” She grins triumphantly at Uther.

Uther only raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you’d made plans to meet Leon,” he says. The way he almost glares at the potatoes on his plate tells Gwen he doesn’t entirely approve.

“We ran into each other,” she says. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking. I’m not dating him, I’m not falling into his bed - but if I did it would be none of your business.”

Uther winces. “I never meant to imply that it was.”

“Uh huh,” Gwen says, deliberately adding an extra ounce of sarcasm to her voice, just like she adds gravy to the portion of meatloaf and potatoes on her plate.

“I know you mean well,” she says after a moment when Uther’s still only staring at his food instead of eating it. “But you have to be careful how you come across when you say stuff like that.”

Uther sighs, but nods in agreement. 

Gwen smiles, satisfied with his reaction. “Now, eat, or George over there will call a doctor to make sure you’re not ill. Normally, by now, you’d have eaten half that slice of meatloaf already.”

Uther chuckles, cuts off a piece of the loaf and, while staring at George challengingly, pops it into his mouth. George doesn’t show any reaction, but Gwen’s about ready to burst into laughter - and from the looks of it, so is Uther.

~*~

Gwen hadn’t had the time to listen to any of Leon’s songs before she went to the concert. If she’d let herself think about it, though, she thinks she’d have pictured exactly this.

Leon’s half sitting on a bar stool in the middle of the stage, dressed in the same kind of clothes he’s been wearing the few times Gwen’s met him - jeans, a shirt, a leather bracelet, hair loose. He’s got an acoustic guitar and nothing else, only his voice.

His songs are beautiful, or cheeky, sometimes melancholy. Gwen loves every single one from the first note, and she’s already bought and downloaded all his albums to her phone before the last song has ended. 

If this is the quality of work he’s used to producing, it’s no wonder he’s feeling the pressure now to come up with something equally gorgeous.

After he’s sung the last song, given the last encore, and after all the loud cheers have died down, he spends time with the fans who ask for autographs and selfies. It takes him over an hour to finish talking to everyone who wants to have a minute (or five) with him, and all the while Gwen watches from where she’s sitting at the bar. 

He’s patient with the fans, even though he’s clearly exhausted from playing and singing for over an hour non-stop. 

When he finally makes his way over to her, he’s smiling tiredly.

“You came,” he says, sounding as surprised as he looks pleased.

“I did,” she says needlessly.

“And you stayed the whole time.”

It makes her laugh. “Apparently, yes. I even listened the whole time instead of reading a good book.”

“Did you like it, then?” he asks, and Gwen gets the feeling that her opinion matters to him a lot more than she would’ve expected.

“I did,” she says honestly. She pulls up her phone and shows him her music player where all his songs are queued.

Leon’s smile is happy and warm, and it sets off a single butterfly in Gwen’s stomach.

“I’m glad,” he says. 

Gwen smiles back. “Are you ready to leave or do you need to hang around for a while longer?” she asks, mostly to have something to say.

“No, I can go. Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” He nods, then looks around the cramped room. “I just need to fetch my stuff from the back, and grab my guitar. Meet me outside in ten minutes?”

“Sure,” she says, and slides off the barstool she’s been occupying. “Don’t fall asleep backstage,” she warns.

Leon laughs. “I’ll try,” he says. He blinks slowly, then frowns. “I didn’t wink, did I?”

“Not even a little bit,” Gwen says, grinning. 

“Damn,” he says. “I definitely need something to eat, and a coffee.”

“Ten minutes,” Gwen reminds him. 

“Right,” Leon says, and with a small wave of his hand, he heads backstage to get his things.

Gwen watches him leave, and steadfastly ignores the second butterfly taking flight in her stomach.

~*~

After the gig on Friday, and the following dinner, Gwen’s been thinking about Leon a lot. She knows she’s attracted to him, and she knows she’s beginning to really like him. But how on earth would it work? His entire life is in the US now, and Gwen’s not ready to leave the UK. It’s where her parents’ graves are, where her life is. She can’t just abandon Merlin and the kids either.

She doesn’t know enough about Leon or his family to properly guess, but she believes he’s mentioned that his family’s in the UK and that he spends the holidays there. She wonders why he’s not there yet. Maybe something happened and he can’t go home this year. It would certainly make for a good song, she muses.

She’ll never admit it to Leon, of course, but she’s listened to his songs often enough in the last thirty-six hours to know half the lyrics to most of them already. 

On Sunday, she calls him, and suggests that he accompany her to the ice skating rink. Gaius and Geoffrey both recommended it when they showed up for lunch on Saturday, and now Gwen wants to go. 

To her surprise, Leon’s ready to drop whatever it is he’s doing to come pick her up so they can go. 

When they get there, the rink is not too crowded, and the rental prices for skates are affordable. Leon tries to pay for her admission and the skates, but Gwen gives him a look, and he bows his head in acquiescence. 

It’s not until they’re actually on the ice that Gwen realises that Leon, in fact, cannot skate. He falls over a dozen times within the first five minutes, then keeps holding onto the railing like a lifeline. Gwen laughs and skates a few rounds to warm up. 

She can see Leon finally venture away from the railing, taking careful steps on the ice, and she skates up to him, almost startling him into falling over again. 

“Don’t step like you would on solid ground,” she says. “Glide.” She takes him by the elbows and carefully moves backwards, pulling him along.

“That’s it,” she says when Leon manages a few paces and then looks up at her. She offers him a smile, and nods. “There you go, almost a pro.”

It makes him huff a laugh, and then Gwen lets go of him, and he doesn’t fall. “Well done,” she says, and goes back to skating circles around him.

“How are you so good at this?” Leon asks the next time she passes close to him.

“I go to a rink not too far from where I live at least twice a month during the winter months,” she admits. “I know the owner and she sometimes lets me come in after hours so I get the ice to myself.”

“Can you do any tricks?” he asks, sounding curious.

“Maybe,” she says, and winks at him. The next time she passes him, she does a little jump with a turn in the air. She comes back on a wide circle to see Leon’s eyes wide. “I didn’t think you actually could!” he says with amazement clear in his voice.

She smirks. “Only a few, mind you. I used to figure skate as a girl and into my teens.” She skates backwards around him, then does a spin, one of her legs in right angle from the other, her upper body forward, forming a line with her stretched leg, and her hands clasped behind her back.

When she comes out of it a few moments later, Leon’s staring at her with wonder in his eyes. It makes her face grow hot with a blush, and she’s glad to be able to blame it on the cold emanating from the ice.

“Here, let me help you,” she says to cover the awkward moment. She skates forward and grabs Leon by the elbows again. “Just glide forward like you did before.” 

With Gwen’s help, Leon manages to find his feet after a short while, and then goes round and round in circles around the rink, Gwen by his side more or less the whole time. He asks more about her cottage with the little lake, and her aborted career as a competitive figure skater, and Gwen, to her own surprise, tells him a lot about it all. What surprises her even more is that Leon seems genuinely interested in it. Either he’s a great actor as well as a musician, or he truly wants to know more about her.

The thought sits uncomfortably in her stomach, and she’s both glad and disappointed when their hour is up, and they have to leave the rink. She declines his invitation to dinner afterwards, but agrees almost right away to go along with him to one of his favourite free time activities on Tuesday. 

When he drops her off at the house, he gets out of the car to walk her the few paces to the door. It’s a cheesy, chivalrous gesture that usually has Gwen rolling her eyes. She doesn’t make fun of him though, and doesn’t even reprimand him when he takes her hand and hovers his lips just above the back of it.

“Until Tuesday,” he says, letting go of her hand.

“Enjoy your evening,” Gwen replies, pulling her hand back and fighting the impulse to flex it, or take it into her other hand. She makes it all the way inside before she does any of that, and by then Leon’s already long gone.

~*~

Merlin can’t stay the rest of the weekend, and, in fact, has to leave early Sunday morning to be back at home before Killy and Thusa wake up. He comes back Sunday night with leftover casserole. Apparently, Gwaine and Percy are so supportive of Merlin getting laid spectacularly, as they put it according to Merlin, that they volunteered to babysit every night of the week until Christmas if Merlin wants it.

Merlin says he refused, and says that a) he couldn’t abandon his kids just because he’s having great sex - at which Arthur preens a lot - and b) he wouldn’t be able to do anything productive at all if he continues to stay up all night for aforementioned great sex.

Arthur rewards him with a nice, long blowjob for all the compliments he’d received in the retelling of this story, intent on proving to Merlin that yes, he is fucking spectacular - pun most definitely intended.

As a consequence, Arthur sleeps in until almost noon on Monday, and then spends the rest of the day daydreaming about Merlin, and everything they’d gotten up to these last two nights. The soreness he still feels in his thighs, ass, and jaw are especially welcome reminders.

On Tuesday, he finally makes it back to London where he visits the National Gallery and spends all day looking at paintings, and visitors alike. He has a vague description of Nimueh from Alice, and she’s told him to look out for anyone who looks like they spend a lot of time at art galleries. When Arthur asked what that looks like, she smiled wistfully and said: “They’re the ones who sit and linger longer than anyone else does.”

And so Arthur looks more at the people in the gallery than the art itself but while he sees a few people who look like they spend all their days at the gallery, none of them fit the description he has of Nimueh.

He leaves fifteen minutes before the gallery closes and decides to try the British Museum the next day, and if that doesn’t result in anything useful, he’ll go back to one of the other galleries to see if he’s got better luck on another day of the week.

He wanders the museum aimlessly for over an hour before he spots someone sitting behind a desk. There’s a number of small objects laid out on the table and the person sitting behind it, an elderly man with grey hair and many wrinkles, smiles invitingly at Arthur.

When Arthur steps closer the man winks at him and holds out one of the small objects to him. It’s made of wood, warm to the touch, and when Arthur looks at it more closely, he finds out that it’s a rat that’s curled up into a ball.

The man behind the desk explains to Arthur that it’s called a netsuke, and is used by Japanese men as a way to fasten pouches to the sash of a kimono. Arthur’s utterly fascinated by the little statue and spends a long time looking at it and talking to the man (whose name turns out to be Paul).

Eventually Arthur leaves the table, albeit reluctantly, and then goes in search of another one like it. Paul said there are more “hands on” stations in the museum and that Arthur should go and explore them as well.

It’s at the next one that Arthur finds more than just an array of interesting objects. The woman who oversees a small collection of what Arthur realizes soon enough are musical instruments, has clear blue eyes, dark hair streaked with grey, and a nametag that reads N. Eilean.

Arthur pulls out the note from Alice to reread what she’s written down.

Nimueh Eilean, followed by a long list of museums and galleries where Arthur might find her.

“Excuse me,” he says, approaching the table. The woman looks up and after just a moment of looking at Arthur, she smiles at him. 

“Arthur,” she says warmly, taking Arthur entirely by surprise.

“Are you Nimueh?” Arthur asks, not going to let his confusion show.

“I am,” she says. “And anyone with eyes can see that you’re Ygraine’s son.” She stands and walks around the table to hug him before Arthur can so much as protest.

“I thought the English weren’t prone to public displays of affection,” he tries to joke.

Nimueh pulls back and smiles at him. “I’m Scottish,” she says.

“I see,” Arthur says as if he knew what that meant. Probably that she was a little more likely to showing her feelings in public than someone from England.

“Did Uther finally tell you about your mother, then?” Nimueh asks, completely ignoring the two women who’ve just come up to the desk to look at something that looks like a small pipe.

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m here by myself because Dad wouldn’t tell me anything. Alice Collins said you might have a few things of my mother’s, and stories to tell me.”

Nimueh smiles, and nods. “I do. I have to stay here for another hour but we can go out for lunch when I’m done,” she promises. “Meet me at the exit of the gift shop in an hour and a half.”

Arthur nods, and then he moves forward before Nimueh can, and envelops her in another tight hug. “Thank you.”

She pats his shoulder gently. “You’re welcome. Now go. We’ll talk later.”

Arthur lets go of her and moves on to make room for someone else at the desk while Nimueh sits back down and finally greets a couple and their kid, inviting them to pick up one of the items.

Arthur walks around the gallery aimlessly until he remembers that he should be looking to find an exit. He’s outside the gift shop way too early, but too hyped to go back into the museum for another look around. 

He’s sure he’s been waiting for close to an hour but to him it seems as if barely ten minutes have passed before Nimueh appears, wearing a thick, red woollen coat and scarf. She smiles as soon as she spots him and quickly walks over.

“Let’s go and find somewhere where we can eat,” she says, taking his arm and tugging him towards the door. Arthur follows her, losing all sense of where he is as he lets her lead him down (or up?) several streets and finally to a small pub tucked away in a corner street in what he thinks might be Covent Garden or Soho but could easily be anywhere in the city.

The woman at the bar seems to know Nimueh, because she smiles and waves as they enter the pub.  Nimueh smiles and waves back and then guides Arthur to a table in a cosy looking nook by the window. It offers a view of the busy street outside, and Arthur has a feeling Nimueh comes here to watch the people.

“Order anything you like,” she says. “It’s on me.”

“Oh, no,” Arthur begins to protest, but Nimueh shoots him a look through narrowed eyes. 

“You’re not going to deny an old woman the pleasure of buying a handsome young man lunch, are you?”

Arthur huffs a laugh. “I guess not, no,” he acquiesces. 

“Good boy,” she praises and the smile returns to her face.

Arthur settles on a pint of lager, and a steak and ale pie, while Nimueh doesn’t order at all.

“I thought you were hungry,” Arthur says, eyeing her dubiously.

She smiles back and leans over the table conspiratorially. “Cayla knows my usual order.” She winks, and leans back in her chair, and Arthur laughs softly in reply. “Fair enough,” he offers.

He’s giddy and nervous at the same time, eager to learn more about his mother, and yet worried that Nimueh will find him rude if he gets straight to the point without asking about her first.

He needn’t have worried though.

“Ygraine and I often ate here,” Nimueh says without needing to be prompted. “She usually ordered the pear cider - mine’s the wild berries, in case you were wondering - and the chicken tikka masala. She once spent a year in India, and swears that Cayla’s pub is the only place in London that makes it the way her host mum in Delhi did.” Nimueh smiles wistfully. “I went to see her, after Ygraine died. And she was right. Cayla’s the only one who makes it the way she does.”

“My mom went to India?” Arthur asks, fascinated, and Nimueh’s face lights up.

“Oh, yes, and she loved it. She often said that if she hadn’t met your father, she would’ve gone back and stayed there for the rest of her life.”

Arthur swallows. If she had, she’d probably still be alive today, he thinks but doesn’t voice the thought. Nimueh seems to read it on his face nevertheless because she puts a hand on his forearm.

“No, Arthur. Ygraine was happy here. She never regretted staying in London with your father.” She squeezes his arm, then lets go when Cayla arrives with their drinks.

Nimueh goes on to tell him more and more about his mother, all the way through lunch (Nimueh’s having the tikka masala, as Arthur suspected she might), and once they’ve both had a generous helping of ice cream and sticky toffee pudding (quickly becoming one of Arthur’s favorite desserts), Nimueh invites him back to her flat where she keeps photo albums of Ygraine. Arthur doesn’t even have to think about it. 

She lives close-by, and soon Arthur’s sitting on a comfortable sofa with a cup of tea in his hand, and a photo album in his lap. Nimueh turns the pages and tells him story after story, one for each picture.

And then there’s a picture of his mother on stage, holding a microphone. She’s wearing a beautiful silver dress, and she’s singing.

Arthur almost chokes on his mouthful of tea, and ends up burning his throat in his haste to swallow.

“She was a singer?” he asks, putting down the cup and lifting the album to get a closer look at the picture.

Nimueh beside him has gone quiet, and it takes Arthur several moments before he can tear his eyes away from the photo and look at Nimueh.

She looks equally sad and angry, and Arthur doesn’t understand why.

“She was,” Nimueh says finally. “One with a beautiful voice. It’s how your father found her. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t know, but I’d hoped Uther would’ve told you at least that much. Given the industry you’re in.”

She sighs heavily and gets up. Arthur follows her with his eyes as she walks over to a CD shelf where she picks up several cases.

“Your mother had the voice of an angel,” Nimueh says. “And she’s recorded dozens of songs. Most of them she covered, but some she wrote herself. I don’t know why she never had any of them published, but I’ve always suspected that Uther didn’t want her to.”

Arthur frowns. “Why wouldn’t he? If she was that good, she would’ve been successful, wouldn’t she?”

Nimueh smiles sadly. “I think so, yes. I believe that Uther wanted to publish her himself, but his company was small and hadn’t made its name in the industry yet. Ygraine never said as much but I think that she was happy to wait until Uther had the means to produce her music, but that moment never came while she was alive.”

“And after she’d died,” she goes on after a moment. “Well. You know yourself how your father is about your mother’s memory. He doesn’t talk about her, and bottles everything up. He holds all the rights to Ygraine’s music and even though I have copies, I’d risk a multi-million dollar lawsuit if I ever so much as dared to put it on YouTube.”

Arthur sinks back against the cushions, slowly understanding the depth of his father’s silence. 

“Can you play me something of hers?” he asks after several long minutes.

He looks around the room to find Nimueh already standing by the stereo, the warm smile back on her face. “I was always going to,” she says, and then hits play.

~*~

Leon’s preferred freetime activity, it seems, is to escape from locked rooms.

Gwen’s heard about the escape rooms, of course, what with her being a journalist and working for a newspaper. She’s never felt all that eager to try one out, though.

However, Leon went to the ice rink with her even though he couldn’t skate, and she promised to return the favour. That’s how they find themselves in downtown LA in a locked room with only a small set of clues, and an hour on the clock to get out.

“Don’t worry,” Leon says. “I’m good at these.”

“Have you done this room before?” Gwen asks, looking around the elaborate setup that makes it look as if they’re trapped in a bunker, complete with canned goods, maps, a wireless, and a radio to call for help. 

“No,” Leon says. “They won’t let you do the same room twice in a specific time frame, so you don’t end up spoiling it for other people by beating the room too quickly.”

“Interesting,” she says. She wishes she’d brought her notepad and a pen to write down some thoughts and observations. She’s sure the newspaper has done an article about the entertainment value of escape rooms already, but now she’s interested in them from a sociological point of view.

“Hey,” Leon says, gently touching her shoulder. “You okay? I can call the staff to get us out right away if you want.”

She looks up at him and shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just had an idea for an article just now.” She grins at him, and Leon smiles back.

“Let’s get out of this room, and then you can tell me all about it over dinner.” He winks at her.

Gwen laughs, because apparently Leon’s first instinct is to wink in response to anything.

Over the next thirty-six minutes and twenty-one seconds, they work together, concentrating on the clues, and the tasks until the door opens well before they’ve run out of time. Gwen high-fives Leon, and even goes in for a hug, clearly taking him by surprise.

“This was amazing!” she gushes all the way back to the car. “I have to check out the ones we’ve got in London.”

“I’m glad I was able to introduce you to them,” Leon says, smiling to himself. He’s clearly pleased with himself.

“Yes,” Gwen says. “Thank you. As a reward you may take me out to dinner.” She grins at him cheekily, and after a short moment of surprise, Leon laughs, then nods. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

This time, a small swarm of butterflies takes off in Gwen’s stomach, and she doesn’t have it in her to worry about it just yet.

~*~

Arthur returns home late that night, carrying every single copy Nimueh owned of his mother’s recordings.

He listens to song after song until he’s lulled to sleep by his mother’s voice.

On the next day, Arthur starts from the beginning and listens to all of them. Nimueh dated the CDs and when Arthur reaches the last one, he gasps and almost drops the CD.

12/1990

She recorded this when she was pregnant with him. In fact, she probably recorded this only days before he was born. The CD itself isn’t titled, only dated, just like all of the others, but Nimueh added a note to the jewel case that lists the titles of the songs, and at the top she wrote “Christmas with Arthur”.

Arthur has to set the CD down and leave the cottage for a long walk before he feels even close to ready to listen to it.

In the end, he doesn’t listen to it that day, opting to write and discard an angry email to his father instead. 

~*~

_Precious miracle of life, child of love_  
_Gift of hope, the gift of light from the Father above_  
_And You were made for all mankind_  
_You will always be mine, child of love_

Arthur’s listens to the song over and over again. He knows it’s a Christmas song, and not actually about him, but given that his mother recorded this song and then called the collection “Christmas with Arthur” (Arthur’s sure now that the notes inside the CD cases were written by her, not Nimueh), he thinks it’s safe to say that she was thinking of him when she sang this song.

He turns it off for the first time in over an hour when his phone rings, and without checking caller ID, he answers it.

“Arthur?” a cheerful, female sounding voice says, and Arthur startles, pulling the phone from his ear and checking the screen after all. It’s his landline in LA.

“Gwen?” he asks back.

“Yes!” Gwen replies, sounding eerily chipper. “I just wanted to hear how you’re doing, and if Elyan isn’t giving you too much trouble.”

Arthur looks down at the cat curled up in his lap, and smiles for the first time in what feels like days.

“No, he’s an absolute angel,” he promises. “I might have to sneak him into my carry-on, actually.”

Gwen laughs, and it’s a nice sound.

“I doubt he’ll like that,” she says. “But good to know you’re getting along.”

“We are,” Arthur repeats. “And how about you? Are you enjoying the LA winter?”

“Oh, yes!” she says, sounding absolutely delighted. “The weather’s lovely, despite the wind, and I’m having so much fun exploring the city!”

She sounds excited, and Arthur’s glad for it. Gwen seems like a nice person, from what Merlin’s told him, and just from how homey her, well, home is.

“That’s great,” he says. “I hope George isn’t being too bothersome.”

“No,” she says quickly. “Not at all. He’s very helpful and, er, prompt?”

Arthur laughs. “Yep, sounds like George, all right.”

Gwen giggles. “He’s really no bother. He runs the house efficiently and I admire him for that. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere this big for an extended period of time.”

“Too bad,” Arthur jokes. “I was just about ready to buy your cottage and move here permanently.”

“Ha, ha,” she says. “I bet you’re bored to tears, considering the enormity of your DVD shelf in the entertainment centre.”

Arthur smirks. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“You mean pompous?” she throws right back at him, and Arthur laughs.

“It’s no wonder you and Merlin are best friends,” he says without even thinking about it.

“Oh!” Gwen says excitedly. “You’ve met Merlin? Has he come by the cottage in the middle of the night? I texted him I’d be away, but it must’ve not reached him on time. I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he says while she’s stopping for breath. “We worked it out after the initial threats of violence because we each thought the other was a burglar.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she says, sounding distressed. “That must’ve put a dampener on your mood.”

Arthur tries not to smirk too hard because Gwen will hear it in his voice, he’s sure, and then she might catch on to the fact that he and Merlin have actually had various rounds of incredibly enthusiastic sex in her bed.

“Nah, it’s okay. It’s good he stopped by and reminded me not to take myself too seriously, actually.” He’s still smiling, but luckily not smirking. It’s just that he can’t think of Merlin without feeling cheered up at the same time. 

“That’s good,” Gwen says, then gasps. “I mean,” she quickly adds, “not that I think you’re taking yourself too seriously. I don’t know if you are, but I’m sure you’re not. I mean, I know you’re actually someone really important here in LA, so you probably have to take yourself very seriously all the time. And that’s good, right? But sometimes maybe you want to not do that?”

Arthur starts laughing, which works to get Gwen to stop babbling. 

“Sorry,” Arthur says, once he’s got himself back under control. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Or maybe I was, a little bit, but I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

“It’s fine,” Gwen says, clearly smiling as well. “I know I tend to babble. The other day, Leon let me go on and on just to see for how long I could keep it up.”

“Oh boy,” Arthur groans. “Now I should be apologising for my best friend. I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“Please,” Gwen says, “I can more than handle Leon.”

Arthur’s silent, waiting for Gwen to realize what she just said. Sure enough, a beat later, there’s another gasp.

“Oh God, not like that though!” she protests, sounding as if her face is a mask of mortification.

Arthur fights hard not to burst into laughter again.

“Like what?” he asks innocently, just to torture her.

“Nothing!” she squeaks. “Like nothing. All I’m saying is that I know how to take men like him.”

This time Arthur can’t stop the laugh, and Gwen groans pitifully into the phone.

“Want me to hang up?” Arthur asks, taking pity on her.

“Please,” she says, sounding terribly embarrassed.

“All right,” Arthur says. “Take care, Gwen, and good luck with Leon.”

“You’re an evil, evil man, Arthur Pendragon!” she calls just before the line goes dead.

For the rest of the evening, Arthur bursts into laughter whenever he imagines Gwen’s scandalized face.

~*~

Since Arthur didn’t tell Merlin or anyone else in England that it’s his birthday on the 22nd of December, he’s not surprised when no one shows up with cake or presents in the morning. It’s still too early in LA to expect anyone of his friends there to call him, and Arthur spends a 

quiet morning at the cottage listening to his mother’s voice again, lingering over the Christmas album. 

The thought of publishing these recordings already formed in his mind the day before, but today he’s absolutely certain. They’ll be put in an anthology to be published before next year’s Christmas, giving him enough time to have artwork done, get them digitized and remastered, and have Nimueh help out with a booklet about the singer and the song collection for each album.

Yes, he thinks, nodding to himself. It would be the perfect tribute to his mother’s life’s work, and to her memory. It’s a good thing Arthur owns the company, and thus all the contracts his father signed. Nimueh might’ve been unable to publish any of the music of his mother for fear of lawsuits that would ruin her, but now that Arthur holds the rights he can do with it what he likes.

He’d very much like to let the world know what a beautiful voice Ygraine Pendragon had, and no one, not even Uther, will stop him.

~*~

When Uther doesn’t turn up for lunch on Thursday, Gwen goes looking for him in his wing.

She finds him in the sixth room she’s opened. It’s a small parlour, beautifully furnished with Art Nouveau pieces. Uther’s sitting at a gorgeous wood desk that’s covered in carvings of leaves and vines all around its sides, with beautifully curved legs and a smoothly polished surface. 

Not that Gwen can see much of the desktop because Uther spread out various photo albums and documents over it.

“Uther?” she asks gently, not wanting to startle him. He looks up and offers her a small smile.

“Are you alright?” Gwen asks, stepping further into the room. There’s a portrait of a young couple on the wall, and Gwen recognises a young version of Uther with more hair and less stomach. She smiles. 

“Is that your wife?” she asks, still looking at the painting. She doesn’t look over at Uther when he comes to stand next to her, but out of the corner of her eye she can see him nod.

“Yes, that’s my Ygraine.”

“She was beautiful,” Gwen says, and again Uther nods.

“The most beautiful woman, to me.”

“I’m sorry you lost her,” Gwen says, finally turning to look at Uther.

“I am, too,” he says quietly, then smiles a wry smile. “She’d be so angry with me if she were here now.”

“Why’s that?” Gwen moves to the desk to look at what photos Uther’s been sorting.

“I didn’t share my memories with Arthur. She wanted him so much, even risking her own health over it. She never even told me how high the risk of her pregnancy truly was. I only knew that she needed lots of rest because of her age, and that there might be some complications during the delivery. I thought that meant that they might have to perform a c-section.”

He sighs loudly, and then joins her at the desk where he picks up a picture of her. It was taken a few weeks before Arthur was born, her belly big and round, her face glowing despite how pale she’d become. 

“I should’ve taken more of an interest, questioned her more. I should’ve gone along with her to doctor’s appointments and all the classes she took to prepare her for the birth and motherhood. Instead I was working so much I missed most of the last few months I even had with her.”

His next exhale is shaky with emotion, and Gwen steps in close to put her arms around him. To her surprise he doesn’t pull away, and instead turns into the hug and allows her to comfort him, even if just for a few moments. Soon, Uther pulls away and clears his throat, clearly embarrassed by his lack of control.

“You should show Arthur this room. I’m guessing he doesn’t even know it exists.”

Another wry smile from Uther. “You’re right,” he says, then gestures at the photos. “I’m attempting to put together a photo album for him. It’s his birthday today, and soon there’s Christmas. I’ve stopped giving him presents a long time ago, because he was old enough not to expect them, or to buy anything he wants for himself, but I want him to know his mother. At least someone else needs to remember her once I, and everybody else who knew her when she lived, is gone.”

Gwen reaches to squeeze Uther’s arm. “I think that’s a lovely idea,” she encourages him. “And I think you should call your son and tell him that you’ll answer all of his questions about his mother when he comes back in a few days.”

Another shaky exhale, but then Uther nods. “I believe you’re right.”

“I know I am,” Gwen says confidently. “And that’s why you’ll listen to me and come downstairs to have lunch before you do anything else. Old men like you need to have regular meals and keep their blood sugar in check,” she teases.

“I’ll show you what an old man I am,” Uther grumbles, and quickly strides - literally strides - out of the room. Gwen stays behind and takes another long look at the pictures on the desk. Uther looks so happy in all of the pictures, and so does Ygraine. That’s what love should be like, she thinks. Happiness and trust, and the knowledge that the other one will be there when you need them.

She leaves the room, and then jogs to catch up with Uther who’s almost all the way down the stairs already. Tomorrow she’ll call Lance, but today she needs to make sure Uther gets his relationship with his son back on track.

~*~

The last thing Gwen expects when George comes into the library to announce that she’s got a visitor, is Lancelot.

Before she knows what’s happening, Lance is pulling her into a tight hug, telling her how much he’s missed her and how much he loves her and that he knows she needs him to do better, and that he  _ will _ be better from now on.

It takes Gwen almost an entire minute to extricate herself from Lancelot’s grip. 

“You came to LA?” she asks, still reeling from his sudden appearance.

“I had to see you!” he says, trying to step forward for another hug, but Gwen holds him off with a raised hand.

“But I asked you to give me some space, and time to think.”

Lance’s face falls.

“Aren’t you happy to see me? I came all this way to surprise you so we could spend Christmas together.”

She shakes her head. “If I’d wanted to spend Christmas with you, I wouldn’t have gone on holiday without you,” she says, her voice controlled. “Or I would’ve come home before the end of my holiday to see you.”

“I thought it would be romantic,” Lance says meekly. “If I came here to surprise you. It’s a gesture.”

Gwen frowns at him. “You love travelling,” she says. “And I know it’s because you’re trying to figure out where you belong, but it’s been a decade. A decade!”

“The world is so big!” he points out. “And I have still so much to learn, and to do. People everywhere need help, and I’m happy to help. But I always come home to you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Gwen says, “you do. For a week, sometimes two. If I’m really lucky, you stay for a month before you volunteer for the next project to build wells in Afghanistan, or deworm children in Somalia, or whatever it is you do.”

“It’s important to help,” Lance pleads.

“It is, yes. It’s also important to show your girlfriend that you love her by not dropping off the face of the earth for months on end without so much as a letter or even a bloody text to let her know you’re still alive.”

Lancelot cringes. “I’m trying to do better,” he promises. “I’ve texted you last week!”

“Which was literally the only time I asked you  _ not _ to do it.”

Gwen sighs.

“It’s not that I don’t love you, Lance. God knows, I do. I wouldn’t have waited for you for ten years if I didn’t.”

Lance’s face lights up at her confession, and it breaks her heart to have to take that away from him because she knows it will hurt him far worse than it could ever hurt her. She’s had much more time to come to terms with the reality of their relationship - or lack thereof - while Lance childishly held on to the belief that love is all they need to be together and happy.

“But I can’t go on like that anymore. Loving you isn’t enough, not anymore. I need a partner on whom I can depend, not a boyfriend who gets a severe case of Wanderlust before I’ve even had time to get used to having him back in my life again.”

“But, Gwen,” he starts, and she interrupts him with one raised finger.

“It’s over, Lancelot. I’m done being your home base.”

“No! Gwen, please. Don’t leave me,” he begs.

“This isn’t easy for me either,” Gwen says, her voice shaking now. “I do love you-”

“Then stay with me!”

“-and I believe that you love me-”

“I do! So much!”

“-but it’s not enough. All you need isn’t love. You need trust and reliability, and I’m sorry, Lance, but you’re not reliable, and I don’t trust you not to run off within a week again because your feet get itchy.”

“I won’t leave again, I swear!”

“Don’t,” Gwen says sharply. “You’ve sworn it before, and broke that oath. You will always have a friend in me, but that’s all I’ll ever be. I would like you to be able to accept that one day, and until then I ask that you stop with the romantic gestures and grand declarations of devotion. I don’t want them anymore from you.”

She tries not to sound too harsh, too angry, but she’s not sure she’s succeeding. Lance clenches his hands into fists at his side, and keeps his head bowed. She knows he’s broken his heart, and damaged his confidence, but his confidence has been almost non-existent before now, no matter what she tried to do to boost it, and she simply can’t keep on doing it for the rest of her life. Lance needs to figure himself out without the safety net of being able to return to her. Maybe this’ll help him actually find what he’s been looking for all his life.

At least Gwen hopes so.

Lance heaves a sigh, then nods to himself. “Okay,” he says out loud. “I’m sorry I ruined your holiday.”

She swallows. “You didn’t ruin it. I think it’s good we cleared the air now, before Christmas. We can take time before the new year starts and each think about our options from here on out. I’m sure you’ll be fine once you’ve had some time to think about everything I’ve said, and what options you have now.”

Lancelot doesn’t show any sign of agreeing with her, but Gwen didn’t expect him to.

“I think you should go now,” she prompts gently after a few more minutes. “I’ll have George call the driver to take you to a nearby hotel, if you like.”

“I’d rather walk,” Lance says. He moves back to the door, and picks up the backpack he apparently dropped there when he entered. It’s the same old backpack Lance takes everywhere. It holds a few shirts, a pair of khakis, and underwear, Gwen knows. Lance just washes his clothes once they get dirty, and ends up wearing the same things over and over again. It makes for lighter travelling, and while Gwen can respect that, and even admires how little Lance needs to be content, if not happy, it’s just one more thing that shows her that they’re not right for each other. That backpack symbolises everything she wishes Lancelot weren’t.

“Goodbye, Gwen,” he says, turning back to look at her. Gwen stays where she is, purposefully avoiding another hug that might end up giving Lance the wrong idea.

“Goodbye, Lance. Look after yourself.”

When the door clicks shut behind him, Gwen takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Once she’s repeated the process a few times, and her heartbeat’s back to normal, she smiles. “It’s done,” she says into the quiet of the room. “It’s done and I’m okay.”

~*~

It’s Christmas Eve and Gwen has finally given in and agreed to visit Leon’s house, and his music studio. He picks her up just after breakfast and drives her the fifteen minutes to his home. It’s a gorgeous little villa (little when compared to Arthur’s house, in any case), with palm trees lining the drive on one side, a lovely green lawn on the other side, and a pool behind the house. Of course, it being Christmas was apparently cause enough to hang fairy lights all over the palm trees, put a set of illuminated sleigh and reindeer on the grass, and add ornaments and decorations to every window of the house. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t cover the pool with glass to make it look like it’s frozen,” Gwen teases, and Leon laughs good-naturedly. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Maybe next year.” He winks at her, and it makes Gwen smile.

“Be sure to send me a picture,” she says, and heads back inside. The wind’s picking up again, and after she managed to get something in her eye only two days ago, she’s become wary of the Santa Ana winds. 

“Where’s your studio?” she asks once Leon’s closed the patio door behind himself.

“Downstairs. Ready to see it?” he asks, and Gwen nods. 

It’s only a few steps down before they end up in a small, soundproof room. There’s a synthesiser, and a selection of guitars, a few microphone, several music stands, and a bunch more instruments. 

“You can play all of these?” she says, gesturing to a saxophone.

“I can,” Leon says. “Not all at the same level of skill, though,” he adds a moment later.

She smiles and picks up a ukulele. She plays a few notes, then puts it back down.

“Is there something you can’t do?” Leon asks, and when she looks up at him his face shows genuine surprise.

She smiles, and shrugs. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find something.”

It makes Leon laugh, and he shakes his head. “You’re a marvel, Gwen Smith.”

Gwen blushes, and quickly turns away so he won’t see. Leon’s charming beyond reason, she’s known that since their first meeting, and the flirting has become easy and companionable. In the two weeks she’s been here, Leon has become a friend, and someone whom Gwen would like to know more of. If only he didn’t live in LA, she thinks.

To clear her head of treacherous thoughts, she quickly changes the subject.

“Didn’t you say you go home to England for Christmas?” 

“Used to,” Leon says, and Gwen turns to look at him again. He’s giving her a warm smile. “My parents are no longer alive, and I have no other relatives to speak of. I’m an only child, my parents didn’t have siblings, and I never knew my extended family.”

It makes Gwen sad to hear that. “I’m sorry,” she says, and steps closer to put a hand on Leon’s arm. “It must get lonely.”

He shrugs. “It’s been a few years, now. I’m used to it. Arthur usually invites me over for Christmas Eve dinner, and lunch on Christmas Day. I don’t always go, but it’s a nice gesture.”

He smiles down at her, and Gwen returns the smile. “Well,” she says. “Seeing how I’m mistress of the manor for a few more days, I’m inviting you to Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas Day lunch instead of Arthur.”

“Then I’ll happily accept,” Leon says, a little too solemnly, and they both break into laughter.

“I wish I’d hung some mistletoe,” Leon says a moment later when Gwen still hasn’t stepped away. “Then I’d have an excuse to get a kiss from you.”

Gwen licks her lips, but quickly catches herself and steps away. The butterflies in her stomach needn’t get excited.

“Well,” she says. “Better luck next time.”

She moves towards the stairs. “I believe you promised to cook me lunch,” she says as she takes the first step.

As they ascend the stairs, Leon close behind her, Gwen chides herself for almost doing something incredibly silly. She just broke up with Lance because she didn’t want to have an unstable, long distance relationship anymore. It would be the worst idea to start something with Leon now when she’s leaving in two days - regardless of the fact that Leon’s probably not looking for more than a one night stand at this point. It just reeks of bad choice, and Gwen’s resolved to stay well clear of it.

They’ll spend Christmas together, with Uther and Gaius and Geoffrey, and she’ll go home on Boxing Day and stay in touch through occasional emails and texts with all of them, and that will be that.

~*~

Christmas Day ends with Arthur packing his suitcase, carefully storing all of his mother’s CDs after uploading them to his laptop and phone to listen to them on the flight. 

He’s spent Christmas Eve and most of the day today with Nimueh and Alice in London. It’s as close to a family Christmas that any of them got this year (or in Nimueh’s and Alice’s case, in years), and Arthur is glad Nimueh invited him, and even happier that he asked Alice to join them.

After he got back two hours ago, he started packing right away. His phone and the portable battery charger are plugged in, as is his laptop. He’s already checked in for his flight, and ordered a cab for the next morning to take him to the airport.

He’s just zipped his carry-on closed when there’s a loud knock at the door. It’s probably Merlin, Arthur thinks with a flutter in his stomach. It shouldn’t excite him as much as it does, he knows that. And yet, the fact that Merlin’s come to see him tonight makes him incredibly happy.

Arthur carries the suitcases down on his way to the door, deliberately taking his time, and just as expected, it’s Merlin on the other side.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” Merlin asks with a smiling mouth and sad eyes. 

“No,” Arthur lies. “I was going to call from the airport tomorrow.”

Merlin swallows. “How about I give you a proper farewell instead?”

Arthur’s already pulled him into his arms before Merlin has finished speaking.

It’s nothing like any of the fucks they’ve had before. They’re taking their time, undressing each other slowly, spending long minutes just kissing and caressing each other, until they’re lying naked on the bed, rocking slowly against each other. It’s sensual and erotic in a way that Arthur hasn’t experienced in a while, and from the way Merlin’s biting his bottom lip and keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur, he guesses that Merlin hasn’t either.

Arthur loses track of time. At some point he grabs the lube, and then Merlin turns over onto his other side, drawing one leg up to his chest, practically offering himself, and Arthur groans. He has to stop and lean down to kiss Merlin’s shoulders and the lovely soft skin on his neck behind his ear, nuzzling into the small space there like it was made for him. A thought hits him, and he chuckles.

“What?” Merlin asks, smile audible in his voice.

“Hm,” Arthur hums. “I was just thinking that my nose fits perfectly behind your ear, and that if you hadn’t had them set back, and I hadn’t had a nose job, maybe that wouldn’t be the case.”

Now Merlin chuckles too, and turns his head slowly to pull Arthur down into a kiss. The angle’s awkward, and Merlin pulls back just a moment later.

“I need a bit more preparation than you,” he says softly. “I don’t do this often, not recently, anyway.”

Arthur leans back down for another kiss. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

Merlin smiles into the kiss before pulling away and turning his head forward again, making sure to stretch his neck a bit, offering it to Arthur.

It’s an invitation Arthur follows only too happily, and he gets lost in the smell and feel of Merlin’s skin for a little while longer. When Merlin’s hips begin to twitch forward, clearly seeking friction, Arthur reaches around and takes him in hand, stroking him slowly.

“Can you come again later?” he murmurs into Merlin’s ear, then teases the lobe with his teeth.

“Yeah,” Merlin croaks. 

“Good,” Arthur says, and keeps touching Merlin until Merlin comes with a low, drawn-out moan in which Arthur can hear his own name - and hopes he isn’t imagining it.

They kiss again, once Merlin’s breathing has calmed down again, and then, finally, one of them remembers to uncap the bottle of lube and drizzle some onto Arthur’s fingers and the crack of Merlin’s ass.

Arthur works him open slowly, one hand wrapped around Merlin’s chest to hold him close to Arthur, and the other fingering him open until Merlin’s hard again, and begging Arthur to fuck him.

He doesn’t give in right away, only takes his hand off Merlin’s ass to wipe clean on the sheets behind him. There’s a condom somewhere there too, and Arthur manages to find it by feeling around. He doesn’t want to look away from Merlin’s flushed neck, or take his attention off of the sounds Merlin makes for even just a second.

Arthur hands the packet to Merlin to open it, and rolls the condom on with one hand before rubbing his cock between Merlin’s cheeks.

“Please,” Merlin sobs. “Arthur, please, fuck me already.”

He pushes in slowly, steadying Merlin with a hand on his hip, the other arm still wrapped tightly around Merlin’s chest, pulling him closer with every inch Arthur buries himself deeper inside Merlin.

Merlin’s breath hitches every time Arthur rocks into him, until Arthur’s all the way inside him, and just stays there for a few moments.

He kisses Merlin’s neck, nips at the sensitive skin of it, and moves his hand from Merlin’s hip back to his cock, gripping him around the base and stroking up in a slow, tight move.

The moan that follows makes Arthur’s cock twitch, and he begins to move. He fucks Merlin in long, deep strokes, keeping in time with his hand on Merlin’s cock. It’s only when Merlin reaches back as best as he can to touch Arthur’s thigh, and begins to rock back against him that Arthur moves faster. His thrusts become more shallow, faster, and harder with every passing moment, his hand now mirroring the movement of his hips.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, and then he’s coming, crying out Arthur’s name (this time he’s sure of it), and his chest arching away from Arthur, pushing his ass back onto him with a hard shove.

It’s Arthur’s undoing and with his own groaned “Merlin,” he comes hard, spilling into the condom while buried deep inside Merlin’s body.

Much later, after they’ve cleaned up, and dozed for a while, Merlin’s head is resting on Arthur’s chest while he’s lazily drawing patterns into Arthur’s chest hair.

“I’ve been thinking,” Merlin says at length.

Arthur smiles. “Sounds dangerous.”

Merlin slaps his chest half-heartedly. “Prat.”

Arthur laughs quietly. “What have you been thinking about?”

“Us,” Merlin says as if it’s the most obvious thing. Probably it is, Arthur reflects.

“What about us?” he asks.

“I like us.”

Arthur hums. He likes them too.

Merlin pushes himself up to kneeling, and looks down at Arthur. The hand that’s been playing with his chest hair before is now resting low on his stomach, and Arthur tries not to think too much about what else that hand could be playing with, because Merlin clearly wants to talk now, not fuck. 

Arthur’s pretty sure he knows what Merlin wants to talk about, and he’s not ready for that conversation. Given that he’s leaving in the morning, attaching strings really isn’t the best idea, but if Arthur’s learned anything about Merlin during the last two weeks, it’s that he’s stubborn and won’t be dissuaded from having that talk.

Merlin pinches Arthur’s stomach to get his attention, and Arthur yelps in surprise.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Merlin says emphatically, “I like you, Arthur. A lot. Way more than I thought I would. And I don’t want to give you up just yet.”

Arthur just keeps looking at Merlin, and Merlin begins to blush. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” Merlin admits quietly after another long moment. He’s speaking softly but he doesn’t avert his eyes.

Arthur swallows, and pushes himself up onto his elbows.

“You barely even know me,” he says calmly. “We’ve fucked a couple of times, we’ve had fun outside the bed, too, but it’s only been two weeks, during which we’ve seen each other only on the weekends when you could get away from your kids.”

Merlin’s face falls. He understands it as the rejection it is.

“And that’s another thing,” Arthur adds because he has to squash this. It can’t work out. It could never. “You’ve got kids. I’m not sure adding me into the mix, long-distance at that, is a good idea. Think about it. You can’t travel to LA all the time, nor can I take holidays every month to come see you. Just thinking about the strain the distance would put on us makes me feel stressed. I can’t do long-distance. I need to be able to touch my partner, kiss them when I feel like it, see their face as often as possible. Pictures, skyping, phone calls … none of that would be enough for me. I’d break up with you after only a few months, and then you’d be even more upset.”

Merlin’s pulling away, and Arthur doesn’t reach for him right away.

“I’d much rather you were upset about it while you still like me,” Arthur adds finally. “This way we have a chance of staying friends.”

Merlin swallows thickly. “It could work out,” he says eventually. “You could work from London, right?”

“It’s a multi-million dollar business, Merlin. I can’t just move it half across the earth because of someone I met on a Christmas holiday. You have to see that that would be madness. The board would declare me unfit to lead the company without hesitation, and take my father’s life work away from me before I could so much as blink - and they’d be right to do it. I can’t do that, Merlin. Not for you, not for anybody.”

“I understand,” Merlin says, even though he sounds like he doesn’t believe a word of what Arthur’s saying.

Arthur sighs, and lets himself fall back onto the bed. “I don’t want tonight to end like this,” he says at length. Merlin hasn’t left yet, and he’s glad for that.

“Me neither,” Merlin says after a few beats, and then lies back down in the same position as before.

“Just for now,” Arthur says, “let’s not think about tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Merlin agrees, voice sounding hoarse. Arthur’s afraid he might start to cry, so he does the only thing he can think of, and kisses Merlin.

~*~

Christmas Eve is a quiet affair, all things considered. Gaius and Geoffrey come over, as does Leon. They all receive a guest room in the house so they won’t have to make another trip the next day for lunch. 

All the presents are piled under a gorgeous tree in the lounge, and decorating it will be one of the best memories she’s going to take home with her.

Uther can’t stop smiling, and it freaks out everyone except Gwen. What surprises them all, though, is when Uther brings out a box of delicate glass ornaments that, as he explains, belonged to Ygraine. Gwen hugs him tightly. It was that, or burst into tears, and she’d rather not have four men trying to awkwardly comfort her.

During dinner, they all share stories about Christmases past. 

Uther tells them about that time when Arthur, in his excitement to receive presents, ran into the tree and had to be taken to the hospital because he’d run face first into a branch and badly scratched his face. He’d only been five at the time. Leon promises to use that story as blackmail material for the rest of their lives. Gwen smacks his arm, and all of them laugh.

Gaius tells about the year and he Geoffrey celebrated their first Christmas as a couple, and by the end of it, Gwen is misty-eyed again.

She’s saved from crying by Leon who tells the story of how he got so drunk during dinner one year, that he shaved his head bald. 

Gwen demands to see photos, and Leon promises to email to her once he’s back at his house.

Lastly, Gwen tells them all about the last Christmas she spent with her father. They made mince pies together, and dad spent ages agonising over the turkey. She smiles fondly as she talks about it, the tears, for once, held at bay. It’s still nice when Leon takes her hand and squeezes it gently before letting go again.

The mood is saved from depressing melancholy when Uther produces a bunch of crackers. They all end up with a paper crown, and take turns reading out the awful jokes. 

It’s again Uther, Gaius and Geoffrey who go to bed first, claiming old age and tired bones. Gwen sees right through them. Geoffrey has been giving Gaius bedroom eyes for the last hour, and Uther has been glancing back and forth between Gwen and Leon since the start of dinner. 

She doesn’t mind, though. Soon, she’ll be flying home, and she’d like a few more opportunities to spend time alone with Leon. 

They’ve been sitting close on the small sofa in the lounge by the fireplace for the last hour. Gwen’s leaning against Leon’s side, his arm around her shoulder to tuck her against him tighter.

It’s incredibly comfortable, to the point where Gwen debates just going to sleep like this because she doesn’t want to move.

“It’s a shame you’re leaving so soon,” Leon says at length. Gwen’s started to doze off, but his voice rouses her again.

“Mhm,” she hums in agreement. “I like it here. No obligations, no one to nag me about deadlines.” She smiles to herself.

“But holidays don’t last forever?” Leon prompts.

“No, they don’t,” Gwen sighs. “I have to get home, to my cat, and my job, and my friends.” She frowns. “Not in that order.”

Leon chuckles softly. “No, not in that order.”

Gwen stares into the fire, thinking about Tuesday when she returns home, and her life will go back to normal. She’s looking forward to seeing Merlin and the kids again, to sleep in her own bed, cuddle Elyan … She’s got a good life at home, and now that she’s made a clean cut with Lance, she finally feels ready to take the next step in her life. 

Starting next year, she’ll start writing her first novel, and see where that takes her.

“I could visit some time,” he says after a long pause, bringing Gwen out of her thoughts.

“You could,” she says. “There’s a lovely B’n’B where I live, or you could stay in London and we’ll meet up somewhere.”

“I was thinking I could sleep on your couch,” Leon says, smile audible in his voice. “But if you rather I stay at the B’n’B that’s fine too.”

Gwen hums again. “You can sleep on my couch,” she allows. “As long as you don’t mind being covered in cat hair.”

It makes Leon laugh. “I think I’ll survive.”

“Yes, I think you will,” Gwen agrees, smiling as well. The butterflies in her stomach are persistent buggers, and they seem to multiply every time she sees Leon. 

“Leon?” she asks at length, and Leon hums in reply.

“If I kiss you, will you still talk to me in the morning, or will I be another one of the women you finally convinced that you’re God’s greatest gift to mankind?”

She’s staring at the fire, afraid of what she’ll see on Leon’s face if she looks at him, but Leon’s pulling his arm away, and then takes her shoulder gently and turns her to face him.

“I never thought that of any of the women I’ve been with,” he says, eyes earnest. “And I’m not even nearly as much of a playboy as Uther would have you think. I had a girlfriend for half a year and she kept changing her look about once a month. Every time Uther saw her, he thought I had someone new.”

Gwen laughs, and shakes her head. She can easily believe that of Uther.

“It’s true that I’ve never been with anyone for much longer than six months,” Leon admits, “and I’ve had my fair share of one night stands and weekend affairs, but only ever with people who were on the same page. I’m not some playboy who toys with someone’s emotions like that.”

She bites her lip. This is more like the Leon she’s got to know through his music, and during the past two weeks.

It’s the look in his eyes, the worry that she’ll think badly of him, that makes the decision for her, and she leans forward to kiss him before she can think better of it.

When his hand lands on her waist, and the other arm goes around her shoulder, that’s when the butterflies in her stomach set off again. 

She scoots closer to deepen the kiss, and finds that Leon’s an excellent kisser. Gentle pressure of lips, mouth open just enough so their tongues can touch - nothing at all like the open-mouthed devouring Lance often did.

Gwen giggles, and Leon pulls away far enough to speak. 

“What?” he asks, smiling as well.

“Nothing,” Gwen says, shaking her head once. “I was just thinking about how good you’re at kissing, and that my last boyfriend could learn a thing or two from you. And then I thought I really shouldn’t be thinking about him when I’m kissing you.”

Leon smirks. “Want to find out if I can make you forget all about him?”

Heat pools in Gwen’s stomach, and she licks her lips. “Would you like to come up to my room?”

Leon responds by kissing her again, more urgently this time.

“Yes,” he grinds out between kisses. “I want that very much.”

It takes them a long time to eventually get off the couch and up the stairs to Gwen’s guest room. She’s rather proud of herself when she doesn’t get lost once even though she and Leon frequently stop for more snogging in the hallway.

Once inside the bedroom, Leon pulls Gwen close, bending down to kiss her while pushing a hand beneath her blouse.

She pulls him backwards towards the bed, and it’s not until she thinks about getting him out of his shirt, that something occurs to her.

“I don’t have any condoms,” she says, looking up at him.

“I do,” Leon says, rubbing the back of his neck while looking sheepish.

Gwen raises a brow. “If it’s in your wallet, it’s not going anywhere near me.”

“No,” Leon says, laughing. “They’re in my toiletries bag in my room, actually.”

“And do you always travel with condoms, or is Christmas special?”

“Which reply gets me into more trouble?” he asks, grinning at her. 

Gwen smiles, and shakes her head at the same time. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.” 

He bends down to kiss her again, softer this time. “We don’t have to do anything that involves condoms. Kissing, touching, all of that is more than fine with me.”

She holds onto his biceps, and goes up on her toes to meet his next kiss. 

“Just be quick, okay?” she says quietly, then gently pushes him away and towards the door.

“Okay,” he promises, and leaves the room with long, fast strides. She can hear him break into a run once the door closes behind him, and it makes her laugh.

She runs her hands through her hair, deciding to get a new haircut in January as well. 

All the doubts she’s had about this fling with Leon, they’re still there, but squashed down by desire and pent-up emotions that all tell her to just go for it.

Nevertheless, she goes to the bathroom to wash her face to cool down just a fraction. She’s just debating whether she should take a quick shower, when she hears the door to her lounge open, and Leon’s voice calling for her.

She steps out of the bedroom, and just takes a moment to look at him. His chest is heaving as if he ran a few laps around the house, instead of to his room and back. For all Gwen knows, Leon’s sleeping on the other side of the mansion, near where Uther, Gaius and Geoffrey have their rooms, so a lap around the house doesn’t sound too far-fetched.

He holds up a strip of condoms, making Gwen laugh.

“I’d say those are enough,” she says, and steps closer.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Leon replies, grinning cheekily. 

Gwen leans up to pull him into a kiss. “Shut up and take off your clothes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and makes quick work of his shirt and trousers. His chest’s covered in dark hair, and a trail of it is leading down beneath the waistband of his boxers where she can make out a noticeable bulge. 

She bites her lip as she looks him up and down. His fingers are tapping nervously against his thigh, and when she looks up at his face, she finds him watching her.

“Well?” he asks, probably putting all the bravado he has into that one syllable.

Gwen smiles. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” she teases. “You’ve done the whole undressing-for-someone-new-for-the-first-time thing a lot more often than I have.”

As she says it, she unbuttons her blouse, and slides it off her shoulders a moment later, letting it drop to the floor carelessly.

“I have,” he admits. “Never gets any less nerve-wrecking, though.”

She can tell he’s watching her every move. His eyes have left her face and are fixated on her chest instead. Gwen, in a daring move she never thought herself capable of, slides a hand down her stomach to the waistband of her suit trousers, keeping close watch on Leon’s face.

He swallows, then licks his lips, and Gwen finally undoes the button and zipper of her trousers and pushes them over her hips until they fall to the floor. She steps out of them, and closer to Leon. Her underwear doesn’t match in the slightest. Her bra is a lighter shade of brown than her skin, and her knickers are bright red - because it’s Christmas - but Leon doesn’t seem to mind in the least from the way he tracks her every move as she moves onto the bed. Once she’s comfortably sitting in the middle, she clears her throat, and Leon’s eyes snap back up to her face.

“Were you going to join me any time soon?” she asks cockily. She’s not sure what it is that’s making her so bold. Seeing him nervous, maybe, or the fact that if it all goes pear-shaped, she’ll be able to walk away in less than two days. Maybe it’s part of the new Gwen, or maybe she’s always had it in her.

Whatever it is, she’s enjoying it.

Leon moves onto the bed, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply. Gwen pushes a thigh between his legs, and when she nudges it against his crotch, he gasps into her mouth.

“Good?” Gwen asks, and Leon nods. 

“Very,” he confirms, so Gwen does it again and keeps her thigh there.

Leon, apparently remembering that he’s not having sex for the first time, cups her breast and squeezes gently.

“Mind if I take that off you?” he asks, running a finger along the strap of Gwen’s bra.

“Not in the least.” She takes her hands off him to help him with the clasp, but he’s already undone it - one-handed, at that - before she can reach back and do it herself.

“Impressive,” she says. Leon only smirks in reply.

“I’ve had practice.”

“I bet you did.” She pulls the bra off and flings it vaguely in the direction of the dresser where she keeps her underwear. Before she’s even fully turned back towards Leon, his mouth’s on her nipple, teasing it with his tongue.

Gwen arches, moaning softly. She cards a hand through Leon’s hair, gripping it lightly enough not to make him wince in pain, she hopes, but she can’t be sure because Leon’s mouth on her breast feels lovely.

Lance has been attentive in bed, yes, but Gwen still only rarely felt like he was completely focussed on her. It sometimes felt like he was only having sex because he thought that’s what she wanted. In return, Gwen often felt bad when they were in bed together, and more than once she stopped in the middle of it, claiming she was too tired or too pre-occupied. 

He never said anything about it to her, and between all the weeks when he wasn’t around anyway, Gwen saw no reason to bring it up herself. Maybe she should’ve done it.

A sharp nip at her breast brings her back to the present.

“Still thinking about your ex?” Leon asks.

“Sorry,” Gwen says, looking sheepish.

“No, don’t be. If you can still think about him, I’m not doing my job well enough. I did promise to make you forget all about him, didn’t I?”

Gwen laughs softly. “I believe you did, yes.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, nudging him up to kiss him. “Let’s take off the rest of our clothes and see what happens.”

He tugs on her lower lip with his teeth. “Excellent idea.” 

Slowly, he slides a hand down her side, into the waistband of her knickers, and pushes them down.

“Love the colour on them, by the way. Very festive,” he says, making an overly impressed face.

Gwen snorts a laugh. “That was the intention. I hadn’t meant for them to be seen by anyone though.”

“Shame,” Leon says. “I rather enjoy seeing them. But I have to admit that I especially like seeing them go, too.”

He pulls away to take them off her the rest of the way, and since he’s already sitting up by the end of it, he pushes his own pants down and off as well - but not until he’s sure that Gwen’s definitely watching.

The thing about big feet, tall men, and what not aren’t true, it would seem, because Leon’s cock is about as average as they come - and Gwen’s glad for it. Makes many activities much easier.

She beckons him closer, and Leon moves until he’s lying half on top of her, his leg between hers, cock pressing against her thigh. 

They’re kissing again, and this time Gwen manages to shut up her brain and let herself indulge in the pleasure of Leon’s hand on her breast, his cock hard against her skin, and her own growing arousal.

It’s not until she feels his fingers gently sliding between her folds that she realises his hand has moved from her breast. He’s rubbing her clit in slow, wide circles, all the while kissing her, and slowly rocking against her hips. It’s sensual in a way sex has rarely been for her, and she’s all the more turned on for it.

After what feels like an age, he pushes two fingers inside her, angling his hand so he can massage her clit with his thumb even as he slowly thrusts his fingers in and out. After the anticipation of everything leading up to this, it only takes a short while of him rubbing her clit for her to come, arching her back as she clutches at his arm for purchase.

Leon’s fingers stop moving and he carefully pulls away, placing his hand next to her hip to brace himself. He’s peppering her jawline and neck with light kisses while Gwen catches her breath. Once she’s able, she pulls him into a hard kiss, and grabs his thigh to drag him closer.

That wrings a moan from him, and he begins to rock against her thigh in earnest.

“Not gonna last long,” he groans, letting his forehead fall to her shoulder. 

Gwen doesn’t hesitate for a single moment, and reaches between them to wrap her hand around his cock. True to his word, Leon comes within a few thrusts into her fist, spilling over her hand, and onto her thigh. 

She runs her free hand through his hair, and tugs on it hard enough to get him to raise his head and kiss her again. 

His kiss is deep, and perfect, and just a little desperate, as if he doesn’t want things to be over yet. Neither does Gwen, and so she continues to kiss him until they’re both out of breath, and ready for another round. This time they even get to use the condoms.

~*~

When Arthur wakes up at nine the next morning, Merlin’s already gone.

Arthur’s not sure whether he should be relieved or upset by this, and decides not to feel anything about it at all.

The car arrives on time, Arthur pays the fare in advance, and the driver loads his luggage into the boot.

Arthur checks one more time that he didn’t forget anything, and that there’s enough food in the bowl for Elyan to keep him from starving until Gwen’s neighbor walks the couple of hundred yards to checks on him tonight. Then Arthur locks the door, drops the key into the mailbox, and climbs into the car.

It takes an age for them to clear the frosted path leading from Gwen’s house, and the whole time, Arthur cannot stop thinking about Merlin. The flush on his skin when Arthur stroked him, his breathy moans, and his voice calling Arthur’s name. Then an image of Merlin’s face just after Arthur had rejected him pops into his head, and it’s as if someone dropped a ton of lead into his stomach. 

It’s unrealistic, Arthur thinks, ignoring the cabbie when he asks: “Had a good holiday, mate?”

It would never work out, Arthur muses. He’s got the kids, and I’ve got my work. My dad. Leon.

The cabbie shoots Arthur a look through the rearview mirror and repeats his question.

“Yeah,” Arthur replies, hoping the cabbie will stop asking questions now.

But maybe it could work out, he thinks a moment later. I could move the company slowly to London. Dad’s from there, I’m technically, too. We could keep a branch office in LA and set up the main offices in London, maybe even conquer a whole new market.

He frowns to himself, thinking it over critically. The company’s one of the biggest in the world anyway. Moving the seat to another country shouldn’t change that. They’ve got branch offices all around the globe anyway. He’d have to make sure to keep the office in LA big enough to house most of the employees, and find new jobs for those that won’t fit anymore. Some of them might even want to move to the UK with him.

The more he thinks about it, the more he gets into the idea. He could take his dad home to London, if Uther wants it, buy back the house he and Ygraine lived in. Alice would like that. And Gaius and Geoffrey too, probably. They surely all miss home, and wouldn’t it be nice for them to come back for the rest of their lives? And even if not, Arthur could still move to London, and visit Uther in LA a few times a year.

Leon would visit from time to time. He can work anywhere, Arthur knows. It’s about the right kind of muse for him, not the exact surroundings.

“You alright back there?” the cabbie cuts into Arthur’s thoughts. Arthur looks up and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, this time sounding much happier. “I need to make a stop, is that alright?”

“What address?” the cabbie asks.

“Uh, not sure,” Arthur admits. “Just go down the main road towards the pub, I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

“Alright. Picking someone up, are we?”

“No, just drop me off there,” Arthur says eagerly, bouncing his leg in his haste to get there faster.

The cabbie clears the icy path from Gwen’s cottage a minute later and immediately turns into a small road that leads into the village. 

“Stop!” Arthur calls when they pass Merlin’s house. The cabbie hits the brakes hard enough that Arthur’s belt snags when he shoots forward.

“Sorry,” Arthur says. “That was it. Just go back a little bit.”

The cabbie frowns but puts the car in reverse until they stop outside Merlin’s garden wall.

Arthur quickly undoes his belt and jumps out of the car, already opening the trunk and pulling out his suitcase by the time the cabbie joins him.

“So, not going to the airport, or the inn,” the cabbie concludes.

“Nope,” Arthur says, grinning wide. 

“You’ll be wanting your money back, then,” the cabbie says, sounding wary.

“Nope,” Arthur repeats. “Keep it, it’s fine.”

“Cheers, mate,” the cabbie replies, now definitely sounding happier, and even helping Arthur unload the other suitcase.

Three minutes later (or an eternity, in Arthur’s mind), he rings the doorbell. Thusa opens it first even though Arthur can hear Merlin shout for her not to do it.

“Arthur!” she squeals, and is hugging his legs before he can catch her in his arms.

Merlin appears in the door, wearing a chocolate covered apron, and a confused expression on his face.

“Hey,” Arthur says, smiling brightly at him. “Do you have a moment or do you need to get back to the kitchen?”

Merlin turns away and walks back into the house, leaving Arthur outside.

“Thusa!” comes the call of a woman a moment later, and the little girl lets go of Arthur and races back inside. 

Arthur stares at the open door, and the hallway behind it. Merlin had said he wanted Arthur in his life last night. Could he have changed his mind so completely in just a few hours? Arthur’s heart sinks, and then turns to leave. Clearly Merlin doesn’t want him anywhere near his life after all.

“Where are you going?” Merlin asks when Arthur’s halfway back to the gate. “I thought you wanted a moment?”

Arthur turns back. Merlin’s no longer wearing the apron, and instead put on the same coat, scarf and beanie hat that he wore the first time they met. Arthur grins at him. 

“I did,” he says. “I do.”

Merlin comes closer, and then spots the stack of suitcases that Arthur’s set up against the garden wall.

“What’s going on?” Merlin asks, looking back at Arthur.

Arthur shoots another look at the house. He can spot two small noses pressed against the living room window, and a taller shadow standing behind them.

He takes Merlin’s arm and pulls him out of sight of any windows.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, now seemingly even more confused than before.

“Just don’t want an audience,” he says, smiling.

Merlin looks back over his shoulder to the house, then sighs.

“Nosy buggers,” he mutters.

“I was thinking,” Arthur says, not waiting for Merlin’s attention to return to him by itself.

“Sounds dangerous,” Merlin answers automatically, and Arthur grins.

“I was thinking that, for one thing, I should stay until New Year’s Day. What’s the point of an end-of-the-year holiday when I don’t stay for the whole rest of the year, right?”

Merlin’s eyes shine with hope for a moment before he looks down onto the floor.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, voice quiet. “It’ll only be worse when you let me fall in love with you more.”

Arthur takes Merlin’s hand and tugs him closer.

“That’s the idea,” he stage-whispers, and Merlin looks up, eyes now clearly reflecting hurt. 

“I was also thinking,” Arthur goes on, not letting go of Merlin, “that, starting next year, I could move the company’s main offices to London, bit by bit. My father probably would like to enjoy his retirement in his home country, and I, as the good son that I am, would accompany him, of course.”

Merlin’s eyes widen.

“It would take some time to do it, and I’d still have to spend a couple of weeks every month in LA for a while, but I’d also have to come to London every so often to oversee progress here.”

Merlin takes a step forward, truly stepping into Arthur’s personal space now.

“And, in a few months, maybe during the summer, I’ll be moving my father, and myself, and probably my father’s friends as well, to London. If they want to come, that is. I don’t see why they wouldn’t, though.” He frowns. “Maybe somewhere more rural. You know how these old men are. They like their peace and quiet.”

Merlin’s smile is soft, and hopeful, and Arthur simply cannot resist it. He leans in and kisses him softly for just a moment before he pulls back to lean their foreheads together.

“Do you think maybe the villagers will mind if I build another cottage somewhere around here? For my dad and his friends?”

“Can’t see why they would,” Merlin says, and Arthur can tell he’s smiling even though his eyes are closed.

“And then maybe you and I could get to know each other properly,” Arthur finishes.

“That sounds good, yeah.” 

Arthur kisses him again, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer.

“I’m going to check into the Rising Sun,” Arthur says after he’s pulled back. “I’ll be around for the rest of the week and go back on the second or third, talk to my dad.”

“Okay,” Merlin says. 

“I’ll be back here as soon as I can, and we’ll skype and call and email in the meantime.”

“And it’ll be enough?” Merlin asks tentatively, probably remembering Arthur’s words from last night.

“It’ll have to be. Knowing that it’s only temporary will help, I hope.”

“Okay,” Merlin says again.

“I’m not promising you forever,” Arthur says because he needs to be reasonable, “but you’re not the only one who’s falling in love, and I want to make this work.”

It’s Merlin who kisses him first this time, and Arthur lets himself get lost in it. The promise of having this in the future is enough to quell his worries. For now, at least.

~*~

She gets up early on Monday to go to the airport. Her flight leaves at eight and she still needs to check in, drop off her luggage and go through security checks. She’s already said goodbye to Uther the night before, making him promise to come visit her soon, and accepting an invitation to come to LA any time she wants.

As bizarre as it is, but Uther Pendragon has become a friend to her, and she hopes that Uther’s willingness to open up to her will help him open up to his son as well. 

To Leon she’s said goodbye after lunch on Christmas Day. After they spent the night together - and what a night that was - Christmas Day was filled with quiet smiles, small touches, and a sense of melancholy over the impending parting of the ways. Gwen was tempted more than once to ask Leon to stay another night, or to change her flight to a later date.

In the end, though, she decided that part of the magic and beauty of their night together was that it would be their only time. Making it into more than it can be would be unfair to both of them. After just ending what was de facto a long distance relationship, Gwen is not in the slightest keen on getting into another right away. She’s not even sure she wants another short distance relationship just now, come to think of it.

The flight home is long and exhausting, not made better by the fact that she has to fly economy and has what feels like a million layovers (that are actually only two).

After more than twelve strenuous hours, she unlocks the door to her cottage, and is greeted by a meowing Elyan. She scoops him up into her arms and cuddles him for several long minutes, taking comfort in the familiarity of his scent and warm fur. 

At six in the morning, it’s early enough for her to go to bed and get a few hours of real sleep before she starts the day, so she does just that, falling face first into the pillow, barely even sparing a thought for the fact that Arthur apparently remembered to put on fresh sheets. 

She wakes a few hours later when Elyan keeps prodding her and meowing loudly into her ear. She drags herself out of bed and refreshes his food and water, then climbs back upstairs into her bathroom to take a shower. After two weeks of the enormous shower at Arthur’s villa, the cramped space of her bathtub with the shower curtain takes some time to get used to again. As much as she loves her home, mentally arriving back in England is going to take some time. 

Not for one moment does she pretend that that does have nothing to do with the new people she’s met in the US, and the freedom she’s had there.

Feeling refreshed and more awake, she puts on the kettle, makes tea and toast, and sits down for a proper breakfast before she gets started on unpacking her suitcases.

The rest of the day is spent doing laundry, complete with the surprise of Arthur not only having remade the bed, but also laundering and drying the old sheets before he left. Gwen briefly wonders why he thought it necessary to do that, but then decides she’d rather not know. Maybe Arthur just has better manners (and more knowledge about housekeeping) than Gwen would’ve expected from a rich LA boy. That thought’s reinforced when she realises that all the trash has been taken out, all the dishes are washed and put away properly, and it even looks as if he’s quickly vacuumed the carpet in the living room.

Either he wanted to be nice, or he had a lot of evidence to destroy, Gwen thinks, and hopes to God it’ll forever be Schroedinger’s cat to her.

By the time she’s done with the suitcases, laundry and general coming home, it’s late enough to go to bed again. Considering that she only got a few hours of sleep in the morning, and has been running about all day, it’s not a hard decision to fall back into bed at barely even nine in the evening.

~*~

Gwen’s just coming home from breakfast with Merlin and the kids, and, to her great surprise, Arthur. Seeing the two of them together, even though they were clearly holding back so Thusa and Killy wouldn’t catch on, gave Gwen a pretty good idea of why Arthur thoroughly cleaned her cottage before leaving after all. Instead of being upset over it, though, she decides to use the knowledge to blackmail Merlin later to give her better assignments at the newspaper. She deserves compensation for having to live with the knowledge that her best friend apparently shagged her house guest on every surface in her home.

She’s compiling a mental list of all the things she’s going to get from Merlin in return for that, when she walks around the last corner to her cottage - and finds a familiar figure standing outside the house, peering into a window.

“You’re not trying to break in, are you?” Gwen asks, opening the gate to her garden. The butterflies in her stomach threaten to descend into her legs and make her knees wobbly.

Leon whirls around and almost slips on a patch of ice, just barely catching himself on the window frame.

Gwan watches him with raised eyebrows as he struggles to get his feet back under him.

“No,” Leon says eventually. “I was trying to see if you were home and ignoring me.”

“I see,” she says. “And why would I be ignoring you?”

“No reason,” Leon says, gingerly stepping over a low bush that’s covered in the snow that fell thickly last night.

“Since you’re already moving, go to the front door before you fall down again,” she says, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. It makes Leon smile at least, and he looks less like a deer in headlights.

She doesn’t ask what he’s doing here until they’re seated at her kitchen table, each with a mug of strong tea in their hands, and a plate with chocolate digestives between them.

“I couldn’t get you out of my head,” is his reply.

Gwen sighs, and draws breath to tell him that it’s a bad idea, but he continues before she has the chance to say anything.

“I know that you just ended a long, complicated relationship.”

She frowns. She’s never told Leon that much about Lancelot, as far as she remembers. Leon must’ve read her look of confusion correctly, because he says: “I asked Uther, and he didn’t say much about it all, only that you deserve better than ‘good-for-nothing men who don’t know a good thing when it stares them in the face.’”

It makes Gwen smile. Uther had given her a necklace with a beautiful amulet on Christmas Eve. He’d told her that Ygraine had received it from her mother when she was Gwen’s age, and that she had always hoped to be able to give it to her own daughter one day. 

“She would’ve liked you,” Uther had said. “Right from the moment when you gave me a piece of your mind for being rude and condescending.” He had smiled then. “I see a lot of her in you. You should have it.”

Gwen’s playing with the amulet now, pulling it from side to side on the necklace.

“Uther’s right,” she says at length. “I deserve better.”

Leon nods. “It’s just that I wrote more songs in the last two weeks than I have in the entire year before.”

Gwen looks at him, and gives him a small smile. “So you’ve found a muse,” she says.

“I have, yes.” He smiles back hesitantly. “And I’d like to keep close to her for a while longer.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t stop you from going on holiday in England,” she says, shrugging. The butterflies apparently object to her put-on nonchalance because her hands are shaking slightly when she raises her mug to her mouth.

“You know I won’t if it makes you uncomfortable,” he says softly. 

“You’d leave?” she asks. “If I asked you to?”

“Of course,” Leon says without hesitating. “Not least of all because you’d probably cut off my balls if I didn’t.”

It makes her laugh that this is the impression she’s left on him. She leans back in her chair and laughs, delighting in Leon’s sincere expression.

“I don’t mind if you stay,” she says. “I’ll even show you around the village, and introduce you to my friends. You’ll find that one of your friends had much the same idea about staying in England.”

Leon’s eyebrows raise. “Arthur’s still here?”

Gwen nods. “It would seem he and my best friend got rather close.”

Then she remembers that they’ve shagged all over her cottage, and grimaces. Leon, apparently now an expert in reading her face, looks scandalised.

“They didn’t-?” 

“Oh, yes, they did. Arthur even cleaned the carpet in my living room before he left.” She gives Leon a meaningful look, and it’s his turn to grimace.

“I hope you’re making him pay for new furniture,” he says eventually.

“Nah,” Gwen says, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll just blackmail him and Merlin into doing me endless favours.” She smirks, and Leon looks almost as impressed with her as when she did the jump on the ice last week.

God, it’s been only a fortnight since they did that. It feels like so much longer.

“Anyway,” she says finally, draining her mug. “You’re welcome to have your holiday here. There’s still room at the B’n’B, I believe. And if they’re booked, there’s always my couch.” She smiles, remembering that moment a few nights ago when she’s first made that offer.

“I’ll be celebrating New Year’s with Merlin and Arthur at Merlin’s house, I’m sure they won’t mind if you join as well,” she says eventually.

Leon smiles with obvious relief. “Thank you.”

“You’ve become a friend,” she says slowly. “And after Christmas Eve, I think it’s safe to say that I wouldn’t mind if you were something else as well.” 

Leon’s face lights up, but she shakes her head to stave off anything he might want to say to that.

“But my next romantic, or even sexual relationship needs more stability, and both physical and emotional closeness than the last one had. That doesn’t mean I can’t have long distance friendships, though.”

Leon nods, smile not fading entirely. “I understand. I’m happy to be your friend, as long as you’ll allow me to see you as my muse, too.”

It makes her blush, and she wonders what part of their relationship exactly is going to be the muse for the next few songs. She hopes she won’t be too embarrassed when she hears them.

“I suppose I really can’t forbid you. It’s not something you can help, right?” she allows.

“Not really, no,” he admits.

“Then I’m okay with it. No one else needs to know it’s me, though. I don’t want anyone making assumptions about us. Or me, specifically.”

“Of course,” Leon agrees. “I’d much rather keep you as my secret anyway.”

It makes her blush more. “Okay, then,” she says. “I’ll show you to the B’n’B, now, if you like.”

Gwen stands up and hastily goes to the front door to put on her coat and shoes again. Leon follows and soon they’re walking along the small path that stretches across the field directly into the village. On the whole way there, Leon tells her about songs and melodies he’s already written, and with every word, and every hummed note, Gwen thinks that if Leon ever decides to follow Arthur back to England, she’ll be lost.

~*~

Merlin sits at the dinner table of his house, on his right side Arthur, on his left his mum, and next to her his children. Gwen sits between Arthur and Leon. At the end, Gwaine and Percy face each other, leaving the chair at the opposite side of the table empty. As ever, this is where a picture of Freya sits.

They’re all chatting animatedly. Arthur and Gwen are discussing improvements for Gwen’s cottage, and Leon’s vehemently taking Gwen’s side, probably to impress her. On the other side, his mum is trying to convince Thusa and Killy to try the green beans at least. Gwaine and Percy are talking about something Merlin can’t hear, but Gwaine laughs loudly and often so it must be something good.

Arthur’s hand on his forearm draws his attention, and he smiles at him. They’re not being openly affectionate in front of Killy and Thusa, yet, but neither of them is quite able to stop touching the other.

Later, when the kids have been put to bed despite their protests and pleas to be allowed to stay up past midnight, Merlin takes Arthur’s hand and laces their fingers before leaning in and kissing him softly.

Only a few days ago he thought he’d never get to have this again - both Arthur, and the easy affection between two people just falling in love. He’s missed it more than he’d realised, and having it back is like a breath of fresh air.

His mum excuses herself to bed over an hour before midnight, claiming old age (for which Merlin chides her), and the wish to start the new year with a good book rather than “cramping you youngster’s style”, as she put it. None of them dared to make fun of her for that.

“If I move to England in the new year,” Merlin hears Leon say to Gwen when he passes them on his way back from the kitchen. “Will you go out with me on a date?”

He doesn’t hear Gwen’s reply, but he’s known her long enough to recognise the signs of a smitten Gwen when he sees them - and Gwen’s definitely that.

Merlin hands Arthur a fresh glass of wine, and leans in for a kiss on the cheek. “I think your best friend is trying to date my best friend,” he murmurs.

Arthur looks over to where Leon and Gwen are talking. The blush on Gwen’s cheeks, and the soft smile tell Merlin everything he needs to know about what her answer was.

“Are you worried?” Arthur asks, and Merlin shakes his head. 

“Gwen knows what she wants. If she’s giving Leon a chance, he’ll have proven himself worthy.”

Arthur nods. “Good. I’d hate to break his nose.”

Merlin snorts. “Don’t be such a macho.”

“I’m not,” Arthur protests, and Merlin can hear the grin in his voice even before he turns to look at him.

“Maybe,” Merlin allows. “You’re still a posh prat.”

“Yes, but I’m your posh prat,” Arthur points out.

Merlin leans in to kiss him, because yes, he definitely is, just as Merlin is completely Arthur’s now.

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other pairings for which I did not tag, are:
> 
> Gwen/Lancelot  
> Freya/Merlin  
> Gaius/Geoffrey  
> Gwaine/Percy


	2. Christmas With Arthur - A Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click images for full size. (Right click, open in new tab)

### Cover

### Track list

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/tracks.png)

### Tracks 01 & 02

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/Ygraine-01.png)

Track 01

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Track 02

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### Tracks 03

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/Ygraine-02.png)

Track 03

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### Track 04

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/Ygraine-03.png)

Track 04

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### Bonus Track 05

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/Uther-02.png)

Track 05

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### Bonus Track 06

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/Uther-01.png)

Track 06

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### Download

[MP3](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/Christmas%20With%20Arthur.rar) | (right click, save as, unpack with WinRAR) | 30 MB  
---|---|---  
[PDF of Booklet](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Christmas%20With%20Arthur/Christmas%20With%20Arthur%20Booklet.pdf) | (already included in MP3 download) | 2.5 MB  
  
### Additional Credits & Notes

All files are hosted on [parakaproductions](http://parakaproductions.com). Thank you, paraka, for providing this service. The skin I used is an adaptation of [EosRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EosRose)'s Podfic skin for AO3.  


This is the original playlist I put together for this fic. The idea came to me when my friend started [Merlin Carols](http://merlincarols.livejournal.com). I was already writing this _Holiday_ AU and it needed some more plot/backstory for Arthur, so he'd have a good reason to come to England. Searching for his mother's memory sounded right, and what with him being a music producer and everything, this was just the perfect fit.  
  
The idea behind the song selection is that Ygraine sings about her precious child for which she's waited so long (remember, she's well into her forties when she gets pregnant), and whom she loves so dearly that she risks the dangers of a pregnancy. Uther's bonus tracks (and I wish I had Anthony Head singing Christmas carols because his voice is lovely!) are more a reflection of his character. The Cherry Tree Carol shows that he wasn't entirely happy with Ygraine's pregnancy, and needed time to see how important it was to her. The Lullaby for an Anxious Child ... Well, just don't go and imagine a heartbroken widower!Uther in a foreign country singing forlornly to his baby boy because he won't stop crying, is all I'm saying.  
  
On a side-note: Arthur's birthday, in this story, is Dec 22nd. It's no coincidence that so many Christmas songs about baby Jesus could easily be interpreted as songs about King Arthur.  
  
I hope you'll enjoy this Christmas album/playlist!


	3. Back to Surrey - A Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click image for full size. (Right click, open in new tab)

### Cover

### Track list & Credits

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/CD-info_bigger.png)

### Tracks 01 & 02

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/Depression-Songs_bigger.png)

Track 01

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Track 02

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### Tracks 03 & 04

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/Love-Songs-001.png)

Track 03

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Track 04

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### Track 05

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/Love-Songs-002.png)

Track 05

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### Track 06

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/Love-Songs-003.png)

Track 06

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### Tracks 07 & 08

[](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/Love-songs-004.png)

Track 07

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Secret Bonus Track feat. Gwen Smith

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### Download

[MP3](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/Back%20to%20Surrey.rar) | (right click, save as, unpack with WinRAR) | 37 MB  
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[PDF of Booklet](http://momotastic.parakaproductions.com/Merlin%20Carols%202016/Back%20to%20Surrey/Back%20to%20Surrey%20Booklet.pdf) | (already included in MP3 download) | 2.5 MB  
  
### Additional Credits & Notes

All files are hosted on [parakaproductions](http://parakaproductions.com). Thank you, paraka, for providing this service. The skin I used is an adaptation of [EosRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EosRose)'s Podfic skin for AO3.  
  


The idea for this playlist/album is Leon's struggle with his artistic block (the first two songs), and how Gwen turns into his muse. It's not so much about Gwen "saving" him, as him being completely besotted with her and unable to stop thinking about her.


End file.
